Kingdom Come
by lovelyinherbones
Summary: Violence, the very act of ending life, is the caustic hindrance that Bella and Edward must overcome. The wall that stands between them is not of creatures only existing in one's imagination; it's their own inevitability they must fight. AU. Hiatus.
1. For You I'd Wait 'Till Kingdom Come

_As a wise woman once said, the only place I own Twilight is in my dreams._

**Kingdom Come.  
****Preface.**

--

**Isabella Swan.**

I think I heard the shots ringing out across the pitch black night before I truly saw them, or felt them. I heard the hammer click and the trigger pull and the bullet leave the chamber long before it even hit my body.

I knew this was coming. Since the very beginning, I knew this would happen. The threat had always hovered over us, a dangerous cloud ready to strike us down. It's not as though I didn't know what I was getting myself into all of those months ago.

And as I lay on the snowy ground, blood staining all that surrounded me, and an angel's tears soaking the collar of my scarlet wool coat as he cried over me, I couldn't help but think that, despite the pain and despite the ominous darkness now clouding my vision, for that short, sweet time of pure bliss and happiness, it had all been worth it.

--

_Before you say anything, I know that vampires can't cry. Edward's not a vampire, and we'll leave it at that. All will be explained later, so please review. I'll update again shortly._ :)

_This fic is named for the song "Kingdom Come" by Coldplay. Download it. Listen to it._


	2. Foreign Land is Right and Left

**_Alternate summary: Violence, the very act of ending life, is the single obstacle that Bella and Edward must overcome. The wall that stands between them is not one of ethereal and obscure beings only existing in one's imagination; it's their own existence they must fight. AU_**

A/N: You've probably read 456,349,300 versions of Bella's first day of school, but I really didn't like the other version of this chapter that I had, so please bear with me, and review.

P.S. The italics at the beginning are sort of like a monologue, just to begin the story. :)

– –

**Chapter One.  
****So Sudden.**

_For my entire life, I'd believed true love to be a cliché. A myth. Something intangible and unreal. Something everyone strived for and no one achieved._

_I'd read it all - Romeo and Juliet, Catherine and Heathcliff, Elizabeth and Mister Darcy. Each story different, yet common in their core element - an undying, soul consuming love that one held above all else._

_Never, in my seventeen year existence, did I ever think that I would experience this feeling, this _part_ of me that was so passionate and consuming, that it changed my very being, the very core of who I was - that I would experience it so quickly and so briefly, that not only would I know the one true gift life could bestow upon a human being, but that it would come out of absolutely nowhere..._

--

The sun broke through the glass of the window, escaping through the cracks of the curtains, and blinded me in their brightness. I shielded my eyes long enough to snap the draperies closed and sit back down on the bed.

I yawned hugely - I had not slept well. Today was my first day at Forks High, and the never ending rain had kept me tossing and turning all night.

"Bella? Are you up yet?" I heard Charlie call from the bottom of the stairs, making sure I hadn't overslept.

"Yeah, Ch – Dad, I'm awake," I answered dutifully, and I heard him shuffle back into the kitchen to fry eggs for his breakfast.

I went about my morning routine calmly, nerves not affecting me this early. I methodically washed, scrubbed, conditioned, and brushed. I dressed myself in my uniform jeans, a simple, charcoal grey sweater, a pair of black flats that I had obligingly bought on a shopping trip with my mother and shamefully discovered that I actually loved, and my black jacket, with which I assumed I would be making very good friends with in the near future. Remembering my nice black and white houndstooth umbrella which had, as well, been a result of my mother's eccentricity (it was tearfully given to me at the airport in Phoenix) and which I also predicted would become a good companion of mine, I dashed downstairs to pop some bread in the toaster oven and chug some orange juice before making my way to school.

Charlie was sitting at the table, sipping coffee and finishing up the last few pages of the newspaper when I came down the stairs.

"G'morning," I mumbled, still slightly drowsy - I had never claimed to be a morning person.

"Morning!" he said brightly, and I suppressed the urge to cover my ears with my hands, "I've got to head in to work, but have a good first day," he said with a nervous glance, as though wondering if, after suffering eighteen hours of characteristic torrential downpour, I was going to change my mind after all and hop the first flight back to Phoenix.

"Thanks Dad," I said, making an effort to smile reassuringly. He smiled back, and waved as he departed.

I waited a moment, and followed him out, sighing - although I knew exactly what I had signed up for, I had yet to get used to the dreary, depressing haze of rainclouds that always hung over the tiny city.

The thick coating of clouds yielded a heavy downpour during the drive, but luckily stopped before I got to school, and I was saved from the appearance of a wet rat as I began my new life.

The morning went much as I expected it to, with few surprises. The customary introductions, corrections of my name, new curriculums (most of which I had already studied), and mindless, polite chattering were exactly what I had predicted.

Everything was going well.

––––

I really, truly hated my life.

Okay...so life itself wasn't so bad, but in the hour-long, completely and utterly torturous period of mind blowingly boring Trigonometry, and an overly excitable girl (whose name was escaping me - or rather, I hadn't cared to learn it yet) yapping in my ear, I had thought of a hundred ways to end my life right then and there.

While I appreciated her effort to befriend me - it _was_ my first day at Forks High - it didn't mean I wanted to know the life story of everyone in the school, especially all of the dirty gossip about their personal lives. I just didn't care.

Alas, when she invited me to sit with her and her friends at lunch, I graciously accepted. If I could meet a few more people through this nameless girl, I figured I could suffer through a couple of extra minutes of her mindless chatting.

I nodded and smiled politely, not really comprehending the story about so-and-so's parent's divorce, as we sat down to a full cafeteria table with our trays of food, which was, in all fairness, not as greasy as I expected it to be.

I saw Mike and Eric, who had both shown me to classes earlier in the day (and who were both, frankly, much _too_ polite), and met an Angela, a Ben, a Lauren, a Tyler, and an Austin. They all seemed nice enough, and I liked Angela especially. She was very quiet and a bit timid, but I could tell she was observant and smart, and the occasional secretive smile that crossed her pretty features told me she was making jokes to herself about the ridiculous things coming from some of the more shallow girls sitting near us - we would make good friends.

I allowed my eyes to drift around the large, brightly lit cafeteria - it wasn't much different from the one I had sat in daily in Phoenix. Same plain linoleum and hard, uncomfortable chairs, same cliques at each table, same faces seeming bored and indifferent towards the outside world. Typical teenage population.

This dull and familiar environment soon became awkward for me, as the conversation struck a chord of gossiping that I, as the new girl, was incidentally excluded from. The urge to leave the cafeteria and wander and explore the rest of the grounds suddenly surged up inside of me, and I excused myself with only a few protests, citing a non-existent appointment with a guidance counselor. Then I fought my way through a throng of hormonal beasts and exited through the double doors into a long, white hallway filled with blue lockers on each side, bee-lining for my own, about one hundred yards away from the cafeteria.

I pulled my bookbag out of the tiny locker that had been assigned to me this morning, along with the map of the school that was hanging out in the little magnetic basket its previous owner had forgotten in their hasty departure, and began venturing through the halls.

The first thing besides classrooms with various mustachioed and big-haired teachers that I came across was a pretty courtyard, with various types of tall trees, flowering trees, and a few weeping willows. There were benches and picnic tables strategically placed beneath the towering plants, which had surely been there for generations, and for acquaintance's sake, and since I was sure that it would be one of the few times I would see the outdoors without rain in Forks, I sat down upon a wooden and surprisingly comfortable bench for a few moments, and soaked in the sweet smell of grass and dew and fresh air, one that I had always adored.

After inhaling my quota of the outdoors for the day, I returned inside to continue in my miniature adventure. I was floored (and extremely pleased) when the next thing I stumbled upon was a decent sized, even expansive library. The room itself was small and cramped and no more than fifteen hundred square feet, but the bookshelves were high and wide and stuffed with books and more shelves had been crammed in the minute space than ought to be allowed.

Despite their obvious lack of space, they had managed to fit about twenty-five brand new, shiny white computers on long, grey tables with twenty-five new desk chairs, and a taller table behind them all where the petite, fashionable motorcycle boot-wearing, and watchful librarian sat perched on a high, stool-like chair. I decided that I would quickly write my paper on _The Importance of Being Earnest_, which had been assigned in my English class that morning, and which would take me no longer than 20 minutes to complete on one of these flashy, fast computers.

I approached the woman, who gave off an air of friendly yet adroit intelligence, stopped next to her table-desk fusion, which had an orderly chaos scheme going on, and stood silently until she finished some librarian business on the cracked screen of her laptop.

"How can I help you?" she said with a genuinely cheerful smile. She had short, curly hair that reminded me strongly of my own when I failed to dry it, and she seemed honestly pleased to be sitting in the cramped, slightly over-heated space.

Not being able to resist her truly infectious attitude, I smiled, though slightly forced, and said politely, "Yes, I was told this morning that I could ask you for my student account number and password?"

"Certainly!" she replied, promptly shuffling through her tidy mess and pulling out a thick stack of papers, "What's your name?" I immediately warmed to her even further, since she seemed to be the only one who hadn't known me by name before I even breached the borders of the school.

"Isabella Swan," I said dutifully, and she simply nodded her head and began flipping towards the end of the papers in her hand, and I simply decided she was my favorite of all the people I had met that day.

"Swan, Swan, Swan..." she mumbled under her breath as she scanned up and down the length of a sheet, "Ah, here you are!" She uncapped a marker with her teeth and scribbled a seven-digit number on a Post-It, along with an arbitrary word that I couldn't quite see from my vantage point. She handed me the note and with a cheerful smile, turned back to her work.

There were four rows of tables on each side of the room, divided in the center by a wide aisle with a projector at the head of it, which was clearly utilized for the occasional class taught in the library. There was a wide expansion of windows on the left, and I selected a computer right next to them in the very last row to the back.

The library was all but deserted, save for two people, of whom all I could see was the back of a bronze-colored head two tables in front of me and a long, shining curtain of blonde hair on the opposite side of the room.

I turned my attention to the screen, and swivelled around my mouse to bring it out of standby mode. A screen popped up that said, "Forks High School," and had two areas to type in username and password. I typed in "2008072" and "clean," respectively, and a desktop with icons along the bottom quickly popped up.

I was pleased to see that my favorite music program was already installed on the computer, and deciding that since there was still forty-five minutes left in the lunch period and I therefore had more than enough time to write and print my paper out, I pulled my MP3 player and USB cord from the outside pocket of my bookbag, which had failed to be unpacked since the previous day when I'd used the bag for a carry-on. I plugged it in to the USB port, selected the playlists I wanted to download to the computer, and stuck my headphones into the jack on the side of the monitor.

As I waited a few customary moments for the songs to transfer, I first set eyes on a face I was not soon to forget. The bronze head two rows in front of me had turned to gaze out the window, revealing the profile of a strikingly beautiful boy. He was not a typical, handsome young man - he was strange, pretty for a male and extraordinarily attractive, someone that I would be happy to simply stare at for hours, and then afterwards still not be able to picture exactly how he looked in my mind.

A tiny beep chimed from his desktop, and he stood languidly, as though he was much more tired and older than he truly was. He was taller than I'd expected, at least six or seven inches taller than my own 5'6" frame, dressed in a French blue button down tucked into dark blue jeans and a light grey vest that was far more impeccable and tasteful than one would expect from a teenage boy.

I decided in that instant that he must be a teacher - although every member of the administration in our school had their own district-granted laptops, it was clear from the condition of the librarian's that the small, light devices didn't hold up well to the wear and tear of every day life, and this teacher in particular must have needed to print out some worksheets for his students. That must be it, because, quite frankly, straight young men did not dress so perfectly.

As he began walking in my direction up the small aisle closest to the windows, my own computer beeped and told me that my music had been downloaded to my account. I cast my glance back to the screen and tried very hard not to give in to the urge to simply stare at his strange, entrancing looks as came towards me. When he passed by, I caught a strong whiff of something incredibly noxious - something I couldn't describe, as though something like soap and woods and pure, unadulterated life were oozing from his pores. I fought the urge to breathe deeply, and focused myself very hard on organizing my music library and selecting which songs to listen to while I wrote my paper.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder briefly to see that he was standing over the massive printer-copier in the tiny room adjacent to the library that had nothing separating it from the main room save a tall glass wall that was strikingly modern compared to the rest of the average, undecorated library.

I turned back to my computer as he moved to come back towards his work space, but he stopped to speak to the librarian on his way back.

"Excuse me, Miss Roy," I heard him say in such a respectful tone that it utterly destroyed my teacher theory. His voice was slightly gravelly, yet had a clear, contained, and refined manner that contradicted the almost sexual vibrato of it. "Do you happen to have a list of all of the homerooms that have juniors in them? I just need to know how many copies to make of the announcement that senior dues will be owed at the end of June."

"Of course!" she replied in what I was discovering was her typical cheerful way, "More Student Council business?"

"As usual," he responded, indulging her. I heard some ruffling and a bright, "Here you go!" I quickly stuffed my headphones into my ears to fake nonchalance as the lightest of footsteps came towards me. I randomly clicked on a song on my screen and pretended to be thinking very intently upon the program in front of me. I knew for a fact that my detachment looked forced, at best, but I had to, at the very least, try to hide how profoundly his impression seemed to be stirring inside of me.

I felt slightly disturbed when he paused behind me, and I felt as though he were staring at me intently, his eyes carving through my flesh, searching for something - and I didn't know what - underneath. Mortified by my asinine school-girl reaction and the fact that I was being a supreme idiot, I decided resolutely that I must have something in my hair, or anything equally as embarrassing.

Slowly, hoping in vain that he would turn and walk away and leave me to feel awkward and raw and silly all on my own before I could actually finish my movements, I pulled the headphones from my ears and turned in my desk chair to see him peering, curious, with his head slightly cocked to the side, at my computer screen. Confused, I tried to see what he was looking at so intently, but saw nothing on my desktop save the list of songs playing on the music player. I waited patiently for him to speak, too intimidated by his absurd looks and the thrumming in the pit of my stomach to trust myself not to say something scarily stupid.

After only one short moment that felt more like several long ones to me, he pulled his line of vision from my computer and placed it squarely on me, an enigmatic, enchanting grin stretching across his odd features.

"You know the band Air Traffic?" he said, gesturing to my computer, the same restricted, yet excruciatingly masculine voice pouring over me, his eyes crinkling in the corners out of surprise.

I was stricken - I felt sure that he was going to say something more along the lines of, 'Aahh, you've got a little something...' but I was relieved that he didn't, and shocked and incredibly pleased that one of my favorite bands (whose music, in my possessed distress I had not realized was pumping through my headphones) was in his realm of consciousness.

"Oh!" I blurted, "Yeah, I do! You've heard of them?" Unconsciously, my nose scrunched in the slightest out of sheer disgust at my own dullard antics - _obviously _he had heard of them, or else he wouldn't have approached me about it. I prayed he wouldn't realize that I was, inwardly, cringing so vehemently that I almost felt myself seizing.

However, he smiled graciously and simply replied, "I have, and I hate to say that before you, I was the only person I knew that had discovered them."

"Ohhh," I sighed, relieved again that he didn't call me out on my brainlessness, "I shamelessly admit my weakness for British alt-rock bands." Happy with the fact that my wits seemed to be coming back about me, I smiled sincerely for the first time all day.

I felt my courage fly even higher when he returned a small smirk and offered me his hand to shake.

"I'm Edward Masen," he said pleasantly as I made sure to squeeze his hand with a grip equal to his own strong one - I remembered someone I knew complaining of "shaking hands with a dead fish," and ever since, I'd made it a point to have a strong handshake.

"Bella Swan," I replied with a wide, wide smile and a thrill in my voice that came from making a beautiful friend. He sat down at the desk chair next to me, his elbows resting on his knees, and we began to discuss music - any kind of music, every kind of music - from The Kooks and Regina Spektor to Billy Joel and our favorites of the upcoming crop of young female R&B artists (Adele for me, Duffy for him, and a mutual disgust for the unoriginal black hole that was Amy Winehouse). We talked about early jazz music, who would win in a battle between Debussy and Satie, which current indie bands were indie bands for the sake of being indie bands, and which songs we could listen to, nonstop, for the rest of our lives.

This one conversation, this meager half-hour of bonding over something that I would learn he felt so passionately about and which I formerly treated as an engaging pastime, would be the start of something so painfully beautiful, so agonizingly wonderful that I would come to believe that without it, I would cease to exist.

When the bell rang, we exchanged pleasant goodbyes, now familiar with each other in a way that no others were, and parted ways.

And so it began.

--

_**As you have guessed, no, Edward is not a vampire. He's human, in Bella's lifetime, and they are the same age. Of course, more will be explained later. And, for my sake, review. :)**_


	3. To Stop You From Pacing Around

A/N: _FINALLY! Finally, finally, finally! Here it is! To all of my wonderful readers who didn't see (or chose not to read) the author's note that was previously up here, I am so incredibly sorry for such the ridiculously long wait. Hopefully the newly restructured and muchly bettered Kingdom Come will repay you for your patience. E-baked goods go out to all of you. Or, of course, I can always overnight you some chocolate chip cheesecakes._

_Okay, so...remember that this is almost completely AU. I'm fixing Bella the way I see fit, because quite frankly, I'm not 100 percent taken with Stephenie Meyer's version of her after reading all four books. And __I understand that in the books she takes Spanish__, but in my story, she takes French because I speak French and prefer it to Spanish (no offense, I love all Romance languages, but of course I'm biased). And, yeah...there's a few details (major and minor) that will be different throughout the story. You'll see. :)_

--

**Chapter Two.  
****Broken Ice.**

--

I felt suddenly exhausted as I left the library, determined to find my French class on my own. A tired boredom wound its tentacles around my mind and blurred my comprehension of the outer world. I felt as though my day had already climaxed at the point where I found myself suddenly flustered and befuddled by a peculiar looking boy who shared my taste in music and had no qualms striking up a conversation with a complete stranger.

"Hey, Bella," a relatively over-pleasant, yet harmless boy named Mike said as he appeared at my elbow. He'd sat at my lunch table in the fifteen minutes I'd stayed there, and I figured he was a decent enough friend to have if I ever got lost or needed someone to cover for me for a teacher. I remembered his name specifically because I didn't like the shirt he was wearing.

"Hi, Mike, what's up?" I replied blandly, still feeling gooey with fatigue. He began walking with me towards my next class, not asking where I was going, but simply following my steps closely.

"How's your first day been so far?" he asked politely, in the tone and with the expression that told me that wasn't the question he actually wanted to ask me.

"Alright," I said honestly, "I haven't gotten lost, which is a plus. And all of my classes so far have been decent."

"Yeah? You like the school?" I felt the need to reply, _Yes, I completely enjoy many redundant questions asked by many different people,_ but kept the biting sarcasm at bay.

"Sure, it's a lovely building." Truly, it was. More antique than institution, but interesting enough to look at.

"Great, great." He paused, and I gave him a sort of expectant look, as if to tell him to stop wasting time and get on with it. "I saw you in the library earlier, with Edward Masen."

"Oh, yeah," I supplied, a little bit spooked by the fact that he seemed to be keeping tabs on me, "He's a nice kid. I like him." I offered nothing else, to him or to myself.

"Yeah..." he conceded, as though he'd lost whatever confidence he'd had, "Strange family." I peered at him as he frowned at himself, seemingly disappointed in his words.

I had no idea what to say, so I simply said, "Huh." I didn't really care to hear whatever it was he actually wanted to tell me, so I mumbled something about French class and ducked into a nearby stairwell to climb to the second floor. I did not want to think about Edward Masen any more than I absolutely had to. I was startled by how intrigued I was by him, and angry at myself for that same reason.

The conversation we'd shared had put me ill at ease; conflicting emotions bubbled somewhere low in the ranks of my consciousness. While I'd been completely comfortable discussing in detail things that I felt no need to divulge to any other human being, I'd simultaneously begun feeling awkward for the first time in my life, wondering how badly my hair looked after being out in the humidity or exactly where my sweater had become wrinkled after sitting in classes all day. I suddenly, shockingly, felt the alien sensation of caring what someone else thought about me.

I forcefully pushed what I assumed were insecurities out of my head, knowing that contemplating them more would simply make this situation, if it could be even be called that, exponentially worse. I had to, at all costs, avoid this odd new sensation. I was not the type to be riled by anyone or anything, even if they were strikingly beautiful or extremely intelligent or had an amazing taste in music. I shook my head subtly, jarring such inane and tumultuous musings from my head. I focused on mentally reviewing French subjunctive so as to be prepared when I would have to participate in class.

Though, unsurprisingly, my luck had different ideas for my afternoon. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear, _I quipped in my head as I saw a now-familiar bronze head swerve into the classroom that I knew I was heading for. Of course, he would have to take French, and of course, he would be in my class. I had a sniggling suspicion that the teacher would be a demon and put me in the immediate area of his seat, or worse, right next to him.

Ten minutes later, after a lengthy introduction in which I had to, in French, explain where I was from, when I had moved, some things that I liked to do, and all but give a basic history of my family tree, I was positioned in the back of the room as Edward Masen's next door neighbor. And just as the cherry on top of my suddenly miserable day, the tiny desks were arranged in rows of two in order to be able to fit into the cramped room, a result of what I was sure was budget cuts to the foreign language department, and Edward was approximately six inches from my right elbow.

I don't know why I would have expected any less. The very topic I had chosen to avoid was suddenly thrust right back into my face by the fact that I was abruptly very awake and very aware, and for a reason that was not at all eluding me. I was not cynical, simply a realist, and I realized perfectly well that my life was nearly completely ruled by Murphy's Law. The only reason that _nearly_ was utilized in that particular sentence was because my innate clumsiness had yet to make an appearance in the presence of this boy.

As the teacher began her uninteresting lecture, I attempted to crush myself into the farthest corner of my desk and chair, as far away from him as I could possibly get. He had smiled widely at me as I walked carefully to my desk, and I had smiled widely in return. Fooling him, I'm sure, to the fact that I wanted to avoid him at all costs. And then, the _fact_ that I wanted to avoid him stuck a chord with my Crazy-O-Meter, letting me know that I was, in fact, going insane thinking so much about this.

If I had half of my brains functioning properly, I would have absolutely no problem sitting next to him, and furthermore, when he slid a note onto my desk, my pulse would not have skyrocketed to previously unknown heights.

I glared at the offending thing, cursing it inwardly for doing such completely ridiculous things to me. I could see him watching me in his peripheral vision, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I hesitated before I unfolded the sheet of lined paper, which was creased only in half, and saw a nice, slanted print on the very top line. His handwriting was distinctly masculine, and very neat.

_Fancy seeing you here._ Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a tiny wry smile pulling at the edges of his lips as he scribbled random notes from the lecture into a notebook, pretending as though nothing was going on. The sarcasm was clearly intended, and I appreciated it. A sense of humor similar to my own was hard to come by.

_Imagine that, _I scrawled in my own fine script. I admired the trim arches and swirls for a moment, satisfied that it would make a good impression. I didn't bother folding the paper again as I tossed it on top of his notebook, proud that I was the picture of nonchalance. I'd hoped to discourage any form of conversation from blooming, but he smirked and wrote for a few moments before scooting the paper back to my desk.

_Long time no see,_ it said. I rolled my eyes clearly enough for him to see.

_I know, _I wrote, _It's been, what, an entire fifteen minutes?_

_Too long,_ he replied, and I felt my stomach inch a little towards my throat, _Care to continue our discussion?_

_Certainly,_ I said, not hesitating to think of the repercussions of my actions. Apparently, my plan to avoid him and my stupefyingly sudden and irrational self-consciousness was failing miserably. I would have to be more cautious.

_On what topic?_ He asked. I stared at the paper for much longer than was necessary, and felt my left eye narrowing angrily at it. I didn't want to delve into any particular subject the way we had not twenty minutes ago. I didn't want to find any more specific traits in him that I enjoyed or shared. I didn't want to be any more flustered or intrigued by him than I already was.

_Answer with your favorites: book, movie, color, food, ice cream flavor, and season, _I finally wrote, choosing a generic array of easily answered questions that wouldn't call for any precise details. I gave myself an inward pat on the back and returned the paper.

_Season?_ he queried. I nodded, and he shrugged. It took him a little bit longer than the last time, as he had to contemplate for a moment each individual answer. He finally capped his pen and presented the note to me gallantly.

_A Clockwork Orange/Catch-22/Fitzgerald, Children of Men, blue, anything Asian, coffee/chocolate, and summer, _he'd said.

I stared at his answers, befuddled and honestly, a little bit creeped out. I wanted to both scream and sigh in frustration. My measly attempts to calm myself towards him were being well-foiled.

I penned my answers as quickly as I could manage, and watched his expression as he read them. His face turned from surprised to shocked, in the same fashion my mind had.

_I Capture the Castle/A Clockwork Orange/Fitzgerald/L'Engle, Children of Men/LoveActually, purple, anything Asian, coffee/chocolate, and any season except summer,_ I'd written.

He smiled, though, and scribbled something else down.

_TV show?_

_Food Network,_ I said, unable to narrow it down, and then, as an afterthought, added, _Anthony Bourdain_.

He nodded, even before I'd finished, reading it as the ink flowed onto and stained the pulp. Instead of passing the note to him, I simply extended another question.

_Is your favorite Shakespeare play Othello by any chance?_ I all but slammed the note on his desk, and I knew I was scowling, perplexed and defeated. He had to struggle to hide a laugh.

_Indeed it is,_ he said, _Though I have to admit I'm kind of fond of Twelfth Night. _I raised my eyebrows, startled, and then shook my head, undeniably amused.

_I never would have thought of you as the transvestite type._ Now, he really did laugh out loud, a slightly muffled guffaw escaping the gates of his lips. The sound was undeniably the sweetest thing I'd ever had the pleasure of hearing, and my heartbeat raced forward like a hummingbird's wings. Our teacher gave him a sour look, but carried on with her lesson nonetheless. I immediately forgave her for making me stand up in front of the class and tread through a maze of different tenses trying to explain my short past.

_I never would have thought of you as the whiny teenage English girl type._ I shot him my own sour look.

_I Capture the Castle is a classic!_ I wrote furiously, my nose scrunched up in a scowl.

_By whose standards?_

_By mine. _

_Fair enough. Guilty pleasures? Food, television, music, or otherwise. _I saw he was eager to change the subject and not to offend me, but I felt suddenly uncomfortable in the intimate turn our conversation had taken. What did he mean by guilty pleasures? What did he mean by _otherwise_? Did he really want me to spill all of my dirtiest secrets to him? I felt the urge to call him out and take the advantage of being able to end this little interaction before it got too far. Even so, I was never one to back down from a challenge, and I struggled not to frown at the now-worn sheet of paper as I worked to keep the tone of our game lighthearted at the very least.

_I can eat A LOT. As in, a chicken finger sub and a regular sized bag of barbeque chips or an entire box of Kraft macaroni and cheese in one sitting. I secretly love both Grey's Anatomy and Rob & Big. I like some 80's music. And I honestly do more easy reading than I do intellectual._ There, that was appropriate. My subconscious, however, was screaming, 'Fool, fool, fool, you ludicrous fool!' I had to turn my head to the left so he wouldn't see the huge, deep, angry scowl on my face. I chewed the corner of my lip, the spot of flesh sore from constant and thorough irritation. I barely managed to compose myself before he returned the paper.

_I once ate dandelions. I, too, love Rob & Big, and the fact that I watch the Food Network at all is a total secret, so don't tell anyone. I have Britney Spears on my iPod, and even if I enjoy it, Shakespeare gives me a headache. _I hesitated, like a child before they jump into an icy cold lake. My pen hovered warily over the paper, swinging back and forth, the inhibitions and instincts for survival which had so deviously abandoned me earlier giving me no room for an out now.

_Britney Spears? That's shameful._ He smirked, and my heart fluttered. What an evil, evil traitor. My heart and I were going to have a very serious discussion later, about when it was appropriate to have palpitations and when it was not.

_I know, but I clear my conscience by giving myself migraines with Macbeth. _I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile.

_That's okay, if I look at Shakespeare for too long I start thinking in prose. Why did you eat dandelions? _I was innocently curious, that's it. I swear.

_They're practically a delicacy in Buffalo. Why, do you want to try one?_ I made a theatric gagging face, and shook my head vehemently. I wrote _N-O_ on the paper. I was not into eating vegetation that I couldn't buy in the grocery store.

I watched him as he paused, briefly, over the margin where our writing was now crammed. He looked troubled for the first time since I'd met him, a hesitant, almost timid expression marring his strange, prominently beautiful features. I inwardly slapped myself for the thought, and felt even more humiliated when the note was delivered back to my desk.

_Why do you bite your lip like that?_ it said, _Are you anxious?_

I turned to look at him, staggered and flummoxed. He was staring at me in earnest, genuinely interested, his skin bright and pale in a ray of soft sunlight that filtered in through the cracks behind the shut window shades. I scrunched my eyebrows in honest confusion, and he looked suddenly very bashful. I frowned even more deeply, and he turned away from me, staring intently at his notes.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't say anything.

Blissfully, the bell rang, and I darted out of the room as quickly as I could. I just barely stubbed my toe on the leg of a table on the way out, and luckily did not stumble or fall. I needed to make a quick escape, for the sake of my sanity.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, mercifully. I saw Edward again in both study hall and biology, but he left study hall at the beginning of the period and sat in the back row of biology next to a tall blonde boy while I sat towards the front with a random senior, who said not a single word to me the entire time. I gave Edward a proprietary smile and wave and he returned it kindly; he thankfully seemed untroubled now. It was one thing for me to be avoiding him and thus becoming any more interested in him than I already was, but it was another thing all together for him to think I was rude or ill-mannered. I thought about tactics for emotional self-protection during the monotonous science lecture and I all but sprinted to my car when the period finally ended.

Why was I so worked up over a short conversation? Why was I even _thinking_ about it? Why was I thinking about thinking about it? I was one-hundred percent sure I was losing my mind. Nothing ever bothered _me_. I was the epitome of the three c's - cool, calm, collected; now I was just being stupid.

When I got home, I spent the afternoon managing to do homework and laundry simultaneously, then as the sun went down, began concentrating very intently on cooking. I'd given Charlie a grocery list to buy real food before I got here, remembering all too clearly subsisting on take-out and fatty fried foods while I stayed here intermittently during my childhood.

I made my favorite dish, chicken stir-fry. I felt that, for the day I'd had, I undeniably deserved a little indulgence. As I sauteed the onions, peppers, mushrooms, snow peas, and bean sprouts, the chicken finished browning and the brown rice finally boiled off and soaked up all of the water. I wondered curiously if Charlie would be interested in trying the tasty whole grain. I doubted it, but he could survive without a starch for one evening.

I felt too lazy to make homemade sauce, so I just grabbed a jar of Kikkoman from the cupboard and poured it generously over the top as I tossed the chicken onto the huge mound of vegetables. I was just adding the finishing touches (mainly a large palmful of red pepper - I was a spice fiend) as Charlie walked in and looked honestly startled to find me still in his house, functioning normally and not having a mental breakdown or running away screaming. I'd have to sit him down, too, and tell him that I wasn't planning on fleeing any time soon. At least not yet.

"Hey, kid," he said, cheerful now, "How was your big day?" I offered him a wide smile as I mixed the stir-fry with a wooden spoon to my own, silent beat.

"Better than I thought it'd be," I replied. He came to stand over my shoulder, sniffing at the pan cautiously.

"Smells good," he said, and I could hear the implied 'I guess...' tacked onto the end. I couldn't help but laugh.

"It _is_ good!" I said, mock indignance flavoring my voice. It felt good to joke around with Charlie - I hadn't actually seen him since last spring break, as our usual summer vacation had had to been bumped up four months due to my mother's summer wedding. I had really missed him.

He snorted, unconvinced, "Whatever you say, Bells."

--

Later that night, my dreams were unmistakably strange, as though I were on an acid trip gone wrong. If I hadn't known better, I would have said that I was under the influence of drugs.

I was wandering through a forest - not like the dense, thick, green forest of Washington, but through foggy, wide-spaced woods that were simultaneously dark and light, like the ones out of fairy tale movies. There was no distinct path, because the trees were too far apart for there to be any one clear direction. I was simply wandering at will, following the foreign pull - a need, an undeniable _urge_ - I felt in the bottom of my stomach to some unknown point straight ahead.

What was really peculiar was the fact that every once in awhile, I'd see a big, burly man with a big, menacing gun dart out from behind a thin, willowy trunk that he couldn't have possibly been hiding behind, only to disappear behind another similarly narrow tree. Every time he came out from wherever, he would appear for only a split second, not even enough time for me to glance to the side and see him clearly. He was running in the same direction I was, and it made me all the more anxious to reach my destination, whatever it was.

As I continued to walk, careful not to trip on any tree roots or random rocks (though, in my dreams, I was usually not as clumsy as I was in a conscious state), the mist grew thinner and thinner, clinging to the pale white bark of the trees in places and hovering like a thick blanket over the soft ground in others. I could easily see at least fifty yards in front of me, yet still couldn't find the goal or sign which I was working towards.

As soon as I began thinking that I would much rather wake up than continue wandering in this silly dream, a shape grew dark in front of me, the form of a body beyond where my visibility ended. I was scared momentarily, before I realized that whoever it was standing in the depths of the fog was not only too tall and lean to be the burly man with the gun, but was also that whom I was so desperately looking for.

Whoever this person was, standing maybe three hundred feet away, was exactly the being that had lit in me such a ferocious desire to be with them, such an unquestionable and urgent _necessity_, that I was undoubtedly risking my life to find them. I suddenly felt that the faster I found them, the faster we would be safe. I _loved_ whoever was out there, and I had to either be with them or protect them. I hadn't been afraid before, but now I was nervous and knew, undoubtedly, that the strange, disappearing gunman was here for _us_.

I began running, thankful that I was right about being much more graceful in dreams than I was in reality. The person began to take shape much more quickly, and it was only a few seconds before a could see a unique, shining head of bronze hair and angelic features piercing through the wet, luminous haze.

I stopped abruptly, my velocity nearly throwing me off balance, and with the sudden jerk I found myself back in the darkness of dreamless sleep.

--

_Please review. Updates will be up much more quickly from now on, I promise. :)_


	4. The Last Thing You Want Comes in First

A/N: Your reaction upon receiving this alert: "Who the hell is LaLaLovely47, and what is Kingdom Come?" You probably forgot. It's cool. So, wow. Almost six months. All I have to say is I'm really, really, really sorry. My life has pretty much been shit lately, so I actually didn't think much about writing. I'm really sorry. Also, chapter three _**WAS**_ a chapter; I didn't get a lot of reviews for it, but I deleted the author's note that was there before, so if you're a bit confused as you start to read this, it's probably because you didn't read it. I know it's been a really long time, but I love this too much to give it up (I have a lot more written then you all have seen, well over 30,000 words), so I promise I will see it through. Please, please, please review. All of my e-baked goods (or real ones, if you'd like) go out to you in apologies, and I love you all. =]

--

**Chapter Three.  
****Strange and Beautiful. **

--

I woke unrested and mentally exhausted. I briefly considered skipping school altogether, maybe even dropping out, if only to catch up on sleep. I decided that, as it was only my second day of classes, I would struggle through sleep deprivation and possible humiliation from semi-comatose collisions with various objects, if even for just another six hours. Those six, heinously torturous hours loomed ahead of me like a dark ocean waiting to swallow me up.

As I'd promised myself the day before, I would be infinitely more careful and guarded with myself today, not allowing my idiotic, flustered emotions to betray me the way they had so egregiously done before. I would close myself and lock myself up and throw away the key. My feathers were officially ruffled, and I didn't enjoy it. The only solution was clear - I would avoid Edward Masen as if my life depended on it. Edward Masen equaled plague.

I'd woken a mere eleven minutes before my alarm went off, cursing my circadian rhythm. Irrational, yes, that I believed that eleven minutes made any sort of difference in the grand scheme of tiredness, but when I'd been continuously tossing and turning to the beat of steady rain and steadily disconcerting dreams, every moment of blessed unconsciousness was to be treasured.

With a few extra minutes to spare, I made the effort to dress carefully and casually, focusing on every single snap, button, and zipper, if only to keep myself from fainting in exhaustion. I was dully pleased that it was a monotonous task to perform, because anything requiring a modicum of brain activity would be impossible for me to achieve for another hour or so, at least.

My favorite black corduroy pants were a little bit linty from being packed underneath a yellow wool sweater, and I spent an unnecessary amount of time lint rolling them from waist to hem. I pulled them on, along with a white long sleeve t-shirt and my trusty, well-worn Birkenstock slides. Warm, fuzzy socks were of course worn underneath them.

Charlie was already gone when I made it downstairs, so any mumbled and barely coherent pleasantries were saved for another day. I managed to chug down a mug full of hot tea without scalding myself before stuffing a few Clif bars and a bottle of Arizona into my backpack and departing the house, pleased that it was not raining and my jacket was only slung over my arm and not being worn and utilized.

I was still only twenty, maybe twenty five percent conscious, so I drove much more slowly than was completely necessary to abide the speed laws, and by the time I finally got to school and found a parking place, I was officially late.

My blood pressure jumped anxiously as I had to go to the front office and wait behind a long line of slackers and stoners who had also failed to make the tardy bell to sign in and retrieve a late pass. The longer I was outside of the confines of my designated classes, the higher my risk was at having to interact with the very person I was attempting to avoid. It still flustered me that I wanted or felt the need to avoid him at all, but there was nothing to be done about it. I felt conflicted, confused, and idiotic, but between that and the bubbling of...whatever it was...that I'd felt the day before - I'd take the idiocy any day.

The line whiddled slowly down, a single person every single minute. Eventually, with only two strung-out looking girls left in front of me, both with short-cropped, white hair, I felt a little more relaxed than I had fifteen minutes earlier. I'd been in one, common area of the school for an extended period of time, and had yet to have been ambushed by seeing or otherwise having to interact with Edward. Things were looking up.

But then again, I really needed to learn to shut my mouth when it was in my best interest, internally speaking or not. Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw the same shining mop of red hair that had been a recurring theme in my horrifyingly bizarre dreams last night. He was dressed, again, impeccably, in a pair of light blue jeans and a simple, yet attractive crewneck black wool sweater. I could see a shiny, silver, expensive looking watch peeking out from underneath his sleeve.

He was listening intently and nodding as an administrator gestured violently about some issue or another that was clearly irritating him. Edward was facing in my general direction, and it was only by the grace of God that I had not already been noticed, or at least by the grace of the portly man's violent anger.

I turned my body quickly away, so I could pretend that I hadn't seen him, avoid from being seen myself, and also wouldn't seem very inviting towards any sort of early-morning interaction. I couldn't rightfully remember if I'd brushed my teeth or not, and I knew for a fact that I was out of my favorite mints. But that didn't really matter since I didn't plan to be speaking to him at all.

_At last! _I exalted inwardly, the two washed up girls finally managing to write their names on the correct lines. I bent over the counter to scribble my own name as Ms. Cope wrote out my late pass. She quietly asked me why I was late today, and I replied without thinking, "Traffic." She raised her eyebrow and smirked, clearly not buying my obvious lie. It was an excuse born in the constantly car-congested streets of Phoenix when I was late from rushing my mother to work when she lost her own keys, and was a hard reflex to snap.

I finished writing all of my information in the sign-in book, straightened myself, and reached over to all but snatch the tiny sheet of paper from her manicured fingers. Just a few more seconds, and I would be out the door, free to walk as fast as I possibly could to my first period class. I was giving him no room to catch up to me or try and engage me in any form of conversation.

"Have a nice day, Bella!" Ms. Cope said cheerfully and loudly, and I barely suppressed the urge to reach across the counter and strangle her. My entire body froze up and my eyes widened in fright. I could feel his eyes burning into my back. I turned, unnaturally slowly, just enough to peek around the edge of my hair and see that he was, indeed, staring at me with unbridled curiosity.

A low, inaudible squeak issued from the part between my lips, and I could do nothing but dart from the stuffy office, my dignity not quite still in tact. I managed to make it halfway down the hallway and into the staircase before running into the banister, leaving what I was sure would be a beautiful purple and green bruise on my right thigh. I winced, but continued up the stairs, anxious for the sanctuary of an Edward-free English class.

It was going to be a very, very long day.

--

I always thought it was an exaggeration - a cliche, if you will, when people said that tension could be palpable enough to cut with a knife. I laughed when Dane Cook talked about licking the air and tasting the awkwardness of a situation.

Dane Cook had no idea what he was talking about.

Edward had _clearly_ been offended by my little performance in the office that morning. Either that, or I was smelling exceptionally bad. I rubbed my nose, so I could smell the back of my hand, and caught a whiff of only my favorite lotion. I frowned - it was clearly _me_ that he found foul, and not my scent.

As I'd walked into French, I pretended to be studying my feet very intently as I made my way to my desk, which had me unavoidably walking in the direct eyeline of Edward. I'd ignored him until I was safely in my seat, and when I did finally glance up at him, he smiled grimly, as though he didn't really mean it, and I'd barely suppressed the urge to sneer at him.

My back and forth respect for my new French teacher had faltered when she'd spontaneously decided that, with our desk partners, we would be practicing our tenses and talking about our previous weekend, as well as our plans for the following.

I'd quickly had to formulate a game plan for forced interaction with Edward, and I chose silence, with only the absolutely necessary words being spoken.

My heart was pumping stress, instead of blood, through my tangled veins. I was on the edge of my seat, not anticipating the next moment, but clutching the edge of the desk with strained fingers as I tried to toe the invisible boundary between focusing intently on my French lesson, attempting not to affront him any more than I already had, and keeping my mind squarely away from the entire situation.

I truly did not want an enemy in this school, nor did I want someone who made my heart speed up just the tiniest bit when they spoke to me. I wanted to be a good girl, serve my time in Po Dunk, USA, and then make my escape to college. That was all I wanted out of life - not even to make friends in this Godforsaken place. Goodness knows I didn't want any more connections than completely necessary to this miniature excuse for a town.

I sighed deeply, to calm myself. I pushed all thoughts of total isolation and stupid boys out of my head and focused solely on French.

"Comment alles-tu?" I asked Edward conversationally, visualizing him as an ugly, fat woman.

"Bien, et toi?" The image of warts and a moustache disappeared as his velvety, intensely masculine voice washed over me. I felt a chill roll up and down my spine at the sound of his perfect accent rolling the French words around on his tongue.

I cringed at the thought, and stared intently at the picture in our textbook of young French teenagers frolicking on a city street as we continued to practice the ancient language. My scowl became deeper and more pronounced as the conversation went on, and as every time he spoke the immaculate words, I resisted the urge to allow my eyes to roll into the back of my head.

Today, it was Edward who darted from the room at the end of class, clearly as eager as I was yesterday to depart this strange, awkward atmosphere that formerly, I only felt, but was now apparently a mutual discomfort in the air whenever we were around one another.

I frowned at myself for, so quickly, making a mess of things. He'd been genuinely trying to be my friend, and I'd briefly accepted before being rude by doing silly things like literally running away when I saw him or purposely trying to not meet his eye. He was acting perfectly normally and perfectly friendly, yet I was a blubbering fool. The term losing my mind now seemed not exhaustive enough to describe the state of my thoughts.

I spent two not-long-enough periods dreading heading to biology. Though we sat several rows apart, and despite whether or not there actually was any sort of tenseness floating around, my overactive, paranoid mind and I would inevitably explode with awkwardness.

And, like I guessed, I felt cumbersome and idiotic the entire period, feeling completely like I was being watched with a hateful stare, and every time I turned to meet his eye with a death glare of my own, he would simply be taking notes or working on the lab we had been assigned.

I was able to breathe deeply in relief when I finally made it to my car and sat in the driver's seat a moment, just smelling the already familiar aroma of leather and tobacco. I pulled out of the parking lot and drove home stunned, partly guilty and partly shocked at the events that had occurred in my day.

I drove home in a daze, no thoughts generated and nothing around me soaking into my feeble brain. I did homework in a daze; a vague notion occurred to me that everything I was doing was probably wrong. That was fine, it was early in the semester and I could make up points from a homework that might turn out to be an epic fail.

I greeted Charlie and made chili and cornbread for dinner, foggy-minded. I watched Grey's Anatomy, and even the combination of both McDreamy and McSteamy gallivanting across the screen naked (though thankfully not in the same scene) didn't shake the thick oddity hugging around my mind.

Only when I was showered and getting ready for bed did I realize what was going on around me.

I remembered, sort of, the dreams I'd had the night before. They'd been crystal clear and disconcerting earlier in the day, but as the morning and afternoon had worn on, I'd of course forgotten all details concerning them. All I recalled was Edward, fog, and a strange desperation to save him from something.

I hoped that no dreams would come to me that night, or that they'd at least be of naked McDreamy's and McSteamy's instead of Edward and fog and desperation.

I curled up in my bed, pulling my blankets up to my chin and crushing my face into my pillow. I spent the rest of my night vehemently - and successfully, thank God - willing away every inane, unfounded thought of Edward Masen in my head.

--

I took a deep, dramatic breath, trying fruitlessly to steady myself. I stood a few feet away from the door to my French class, pacing. Away from the door, towards the door, away from the door, towards the door. I'd deliberately stayed put in the cafeteria during lunch, engaging in mindless chatter about people I didn't know and gen-ed classes that I didn't take.

But now, the fear of Edward _(no, no, bad Bella! You're not afraid of him, fool!)_ and the fear of losing a letter grade for skipping class were waging a bloody war inside my head, gore and casualties galore. The benefits of the former were insurmountable - my already wounded pride would have time to heal its deep gashes, and I would have less time around this boy who surely thought I was a lunatic. There were no pros to the latter, only an undeniably unsavory con.

I thought to myself. Indifference would work excellently in this situation. So what if he was nice to me? So what if he was rude? I'd given him the hot and cold pretty badly, it was only fair he would do the same in return, however immature it was. Now, neutrality was _exactly_ the brand of medicine I needed.

I finally sighed, resigned. Charlie would have a stroke if he saw a C on my report card, and due to the fact that my French teacher in Phoenix had been a slightly senile, completely asinine import directly from Paris, my French skills were already lacking a little of what the Forks students weren't. Missing class was not an option, let alone getting caught in the act of it.

I walked in just as the bell rang, practically tensed on the balls of my feet. I mentally rolled my eyes - _pfft_. Running away. What a joke. How well that had served me before.

I expelled an enormous breath of relief when I saw the seat next to mine was empty. _Yes!_ I triumphed inside my head. The voice in the back of my mind wondered about my plan for indifference, though I reminded it that that was simply the plan for when Edward was around.

I spent a pleasant period with my legs stretched out on the chair next to me, though Madame gave me several pointed glances telling me that she, in fact, _did not _appreciate my dirty, questionable looking slides on her chairs.

I conjugated verbs by myself. When it was time to do the activity, I didn't have a partner, and got to skip out of the work. My 300-word composition went unreviewed by a peer, but I could take Madame aside and ask her to give it a look over the next day before class.

As I made my way towards study hall, feeling light and relieved, I relished in the fact that I'd be able to function without a mental barrier for another day. I felt no qualms in sitting at a table in the back, several open seats surrounding me, pulling out my iPod and turning on my 'Favorites' playlist before tucking into some of the mountain of biology homework that was due eighth period. I worked for a good half-hour before I was interrupted.

I jumped nearly a foot in the air when I saw Edward walking towards me through the curtain of my hair; the brown mess of it was hanging over my left shoulder as I bent over the thick AP textbook, and though he couldn't tell that I was watching him, I was intensely scrutinizing every move he made. He paused a few feet away from where I was, an indecisive expression crossing his features, and he looked for a moment as though he was going to turn around and walk away. I cursed myself when I instinctively hoped that he wouldn't.

Only a few seconds passed, and the uncertainty was gone from his face and he strode forward, sitting heavily down in the chair just to my left. I ended the sentence I was writing, deliberately unhooked my headphones and turned off my iPod, then turned to look at him directly.

I was abruptly blown away by how astoundingly beautiful he was. I'd made an effort the day before to not gaze into his angular, perfectly proportional face any more than was absolutely necessary, and I felt suddenly not only overwhelmed by his gorgeous lips and nose and cheekbones, but by the smoldering, darkened look burning from his eyes. He seemed simultaneously anxious and furious, frustrated and unnerved by his own anger.

I'm sure I looked like a deer caught in headlights - I could feel that my face was frozen in shock, and as he absorbed my startled and nearly horrified look, his own softened measurably, until he seemed to have his emotions under control.

He turned away from me briefly, studying the grain in the heavy wood table, still not speaking. His eyes found mine again, and I had, at the very least, composed myself marginally.

"I have a question to ask you," he finally ventured, and if at all possible, I felt even more perplexed than before.

"Yeah...?" I said quietly, not trusting my voice to be reasonable. I admitted to myself that I had literally been obsessing over him for at least twenty-four hours, and I was somewhat irritated that just as I was making a concerted effort to steel myself towards him, he had to rush into my study hall all intense and weird-like. I barely kept myself from scrunching my nose in frustration as he struggled for words.

"Are..." he began, hesitating again, "Are you _afraid_ of me?" I leaned away as though someone actually had slapped me, visibly taken aback. I was honestly expecting something more along the lines of 'Are you schizophrenic?' or 'Are you mentally challenged?'

"No," I replied immediately and honestly, "Why would I be afraid of you?" He looked as disjointed as I was for a very brief moment, and then his shoulders slumped, some unknown weight suddenly lifted off of their broad physique. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he seemed momentarily lost within the depths of his own thoughts.

"No reason," he answered quickly. The expression on his face was unfathomable - some absurd mixture of relief and secrecy colored the arches of his eyebrows as they, too, came together in concentration. I felt the urge to reach my hand out and smooth them down, smooth over his worries, ease his problems. I berated myself internally, chewing my lip extremely violently, as if in punishment.

"I'm more afraid of myself than anything," I murmured before I could stop myself, so quietly that I hoped he wouldn't hear. It was the honest truth. I wasn't in the least bit scared of him, merely of my reactions towards him.

"What do you mean?" he inquired softly, frank interest clear and profound in his voice. I sighed at myself, shaking my head and cursing inwardly. I shouldn't answer this question. I shouldn't even be talking to him. A wry, self-hating smile curled the corners of my lips. When I finally answered him, I felt as though I had no choice in the matter - if I did have any say, I would not speak to him or think about him or dream about him at all. It was as though he were a planet and I was a little rock being helplessly pulled into his sphere of orbit.

"Are you ever..." I paused, stuttering over my words, trying to phrase the question appropriately, "Are you ever...afraid...that the smallest decision can ruin the rest of your life?" I had an innate problem of constantly fretting over the smallest things, thinking about colleges and life and choices and death. It was probably the primary reason I was so vehemently working to avoid him; the risk of allowing myself to become friends with him was too great to manage.

His answering smile was knowing and indulgent.

"All the time," he said quietly, nodding softly.

I had to turn away from him, focus my attention briefly on some unknown point outside of the window to center and bring myself back down to earth. My restraint was fading very, very quickly, and grounding myself was a sudden necessity. When reality actually began leeching onto the smeared, dream-like edges of my consciousness, I felt the acute need to bring this very strange and very intense conversation back into the light of casual banter and completely erase any inklings of familiarity or intimacy between us. I was grasping at threads here, and the smallest move on his part was going to send me spiraling down into the bottomless pit of...a _crush_. I mentally shuddered melodramatically at the thought.

"Sometimes I wonder," I said, glancing over at him, and he seemed totally enraptured with every word I was saying, "If I choose to wear the blue sweater instead of the green, if the world will somehow come to an end. You know, that whole _Sound of Thunder_ thing."

He shook his head and chuckled loudly, laughing the musical laugh that I now seemed to be growing very fond of. I could feel myself hanging by the last, single, solitary thread of my self-control, spinning like a dead leaf waiting for a gentle breeze to push me from my tree.

"I doubt it," he said, the snickering causing the tenor of his voice to go up and down. He sobered almost instantaneously, eyeing the dark blue zip-up hoodie that I'd donned during French class, since the teacher insisted on leaving all of the windows open to the forty-degree breeze. It was my favorite - a pretty color somewhere between royal blue and a dark navy.

He reached out and touched the soft fabric so gently that I didn't even feel the pressure of his fingertips against the cotton arm, and then his hand was gone before I could think anything else of it.

"That color does look very nice on you," he said, almost shyly. I blushed a furious apple red, and I had to turn my head away and bury my nose in my shoulder to hide my face.

_Snap._ I felt the final string of my self-restriction give way under the heavy, flattering burden of his compliment. That was it. I was done for. What was I going to do now? Continue to avoid him? Drop out of school? Move out of the country? All were sounding like pleasing, easier options than the ones being presented to me. Actually becoming friends with him.

Oh, the horror.

As the bell rang, he rose swiftly from his seat and departed study hall without another word, leaving me in a wake of flustered, light-headed frustration. I stood on legs of jelly and barely managed to walk in a straight line to my next class.

That night, as I lay in bed, I realized that I _couldn't_ avoid him anymore; I truly wanted to be friends with him, if only to get to know him better and try to understand the complexities that he presented to me. I was too intrigued by the strangeness that he was, the incomprehensible combination of friendly and deeply intense, of forthcoming and oddly mysterious. In a period of _exactly_ thirty-six hours, I had gone from a self-assured, happily independent girl to a girl who had a _crush_. I gagged out loud at the thought.

I didn't have a choice. My dreams that night, the same odd, flat, fantastical and misty silver-blue forest that had been there the night before, only confirmed my suspicions. The same odd pull towards my final destination solidified the sudden fascination I felt.

Boy, was I in for it.

--

_Woah! Okay, a __**lot**__ has happened in this chapter, now! This was originally two chapters, but now it's just a little epic._

_Rereading this, I realized the slight similarities to the imprinting scene in Breaking Dawn. I wrote this section probably in June or July, a good month and a half before Breaking Dawn came out, so obviously I had no idea that Stephenie Meyer would have something similar in that book I like to call an Epic Fail. Yes. I said it. But that's neither here nor there..._

_P.S. To all of my readers who have this story on favorites lists and/or story alert (and there are many of you), please, please, please take the time to review. Unsurprisingly, it's not as nice to know that you may or may not be reading - it's kind of like saying, "Well, I'll follow your story but don't think it's good enough to give you my opinion on it." I honestly want to know your thoughts, good or bad. I review 99.9 percent of what I read, and if I don't it's because I don't have an opinion on it. I hope that you all can pay me the same courteous respect, though _**I know**_ I don't deserve it._ _I know that I didn't update for a very long time, but I was honestly working to make the story better, and now I hope I've updated with something really quality. I really hope that some of you can PLEASE FORGIVE ME and give me some feedback. Thank you so much. _=]]]]]]]


	5. Take Your Voice and Drink It

_**Warning**__: this is a little wordy and tedious in the early middle parts. Get through the breakfast scene, and you'll probably be okay. I've also updated twice in two days - that's a record for me! Drop me a line. Pretty please. With sugar on top. =]_

--

**Chapter Four.  
****Hi.**

**--**

Okay, Bella. Here are the facts:

1) Edward Masen is nice. And weird. And intense. And fascinating.

2) He has excellent taste in music. Brownie points to him for knowing The Black Keys and Ray LaMontagne.

3) We have a lot in common (primarily things like favorite foods and movies).

4) He's delicious.

5) I want to be his friend. Because my curiosity and ego have gotten the better of me.

I sighed in frustration at the mental list.

My morning had followed much of the same pattern as the previous ones - I rose, showered, guzzled some tea, and completely believing that I was late, bid farewell to Charlie while simultaneously making a mad dash to my truck and off to school.

Today, however, instead of anxiously planning escape routes and diversion tactics in my head, a tiny flutter irrationally erupted in my chest at the thought of seeing my new, beautiful friend. He was absolutely, painfully intriguing - from our very brief conversation in study hall the day before, it seemed as though we'd reached some sort of bizarre truce, a level ground to stand on where we somehow knew that we were both on the same page. I was, undoubtedly, fatally spellbound.

I began to panic over what to say to him, what to bring up in discussion. Should I ask him about his family, or would that seem too prying? Should I talk about music again, or would that seem redundant? Maybe I shouldn't actually talk to him at all...maybe avoiding him really was the best choice...I shook my head violently, ridding myself of the creeping urge to flee. I hadn't chosen to become his friend because I _wanted_ to; it was because, for some unknown and very idiotic reason, I actually needed to. To go on in life never knowing every minute detail about him seemed very, very aggravating.

As I pulled into the half-empty parking lot, I suddenly realized that my perception of the time it took for me to get to school was pretty skewed. I discovered that I had at least 20 minutes before the first bell rang, and 30 before the late bell did. I gathered my things from the front seat and ventured into the hallways, which were practically devoid of human life, save for scattered and rebellious young lovers who were forbidden to see each other outside of class and therefore came in early for a few extra moments of tenderness. I barely repressed a gag.

I managed to unlock my locker, only remembering my combination because it was all the same number: 22-2. Shoving my backpack roughly inside and barely keeping myself standing as its mountainous weight toppled backwards into my chest, I snuck my hand through the crack of the door and snatched a copy of _I Capture the Castle_, before wandering slowly towards the cafeteria to nourish myself.

I was extremely thankful that the school served breakfast, especially for those of us who had just moved to the town and were still wary of being late to class and thus rushed to show up early. I picked up two boxes of Cocoa Krispies, some skim milk, and a handful of apple juice pouches before dumping my treasure on a table and settling into my book and my not-very-nourishing meal.

I became engrossed in Cassandra's issues and my sugary cereal for what seemed like only a moment, but was then interrupted by a gentle tap on my shoulder and a shot of fire I was _definitely_ imagining igniting my blood.

I glanced up, and found that the very friend I had been pondering earlier was standing next to me, his own delicious grub cradled in his arm. I snapped my book shut quickly, not remembering to mark the page. He was dressed in dark jeans and a beautiful, silky looking blue button down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that gorgeous silver watch displayed proudly on his wrist. I felt hideously underdressed in jeans, a soft grey t-shirt and black cardigan.

He smiled brilliantly, charming even before eight o'clock, and gestured to the seat across from me.

"May I join you?" he said politely, a small smirk telling me his pretentious tone was entirely facetious.

"Certainly," I said, and then prayed that he didn't notice the small squeak in my voice. I seemed to be all too zealous for his attentions, and I forced myself to calm down before I actually began - well, began doing or saying something I ought not to.

"How was your evening?" he said conversationally, peeling open his box of Wheaties as I flipped over the left over lids from my Cocoa Krispies so that they were label-side down.

"Alright, I suppose," I said honestly, "It started pouring rain before I got home, so I was disappointed about that. My father, Charlie, was abnormally chatty, but I got my work done regardless. How was yours?" I didn't mention that I'd been unable to fall asleep for many hours, wondering how smart it was and how badly I would regret giving into my impulse to actually get close to him.

"Calm," he said, concise, thankfulness ripe in his tone. I was puzzled - he seemed to be a relatively laid-back person – at least in the moments when I wasn't exasperating him beyond words – and I could hardly imagine anything hectic occurring in his presence.

"Are they usually not?" I said, trying to not seem too prying. He paused to take a bite of his healthy cereal, then proceeded.

"Not usually," he said easily, not troubled by my questioning, "My mother is very eccentric, and my father goes along with her. They like to conduct...family activities," he finished with a grimace. I laughed lightly, extremely pleased at his willingness to share bits of his life with me. Furthermore, I empathized completely - my own mother was a _huge_ fan of 'family togetherness.'

"I know exactly how you feel," I said, nodding, "My mother, Renée is rather fond of family game nights." I watched as he took another bite, the spoon disappearing between his fluid, pink lips, and a flame splintered through my veins again - I barely suppressed it before he spoke again.

"Game nights I can handle. Family shopping trips are a bit more difficult to swallow."

My eyes widened in terror, and he genuinely laughed. It was a glorious thing - full and pure with true joy, distinctly unlike the half-laughs and smiles one grew accustomed to in everyday life. I couldn't help but smile widely in return, and a comfortable silence enclosed us as he finished his breakfast.

"Hey," I said, something suddenly occurring to me, "How come you were in study hall yesterday? I didn't see you there the day before, and you weren't in French." I'd been too wrapped up in finally admitting to myself how much I wanted to know him to pay much attention to the reasoning behind his appearing and disappearing acts.

"Physical therapy," he answered easily, "I tore the meniscus in my knee hiking last summer and had to have surgery to repair it over Christmas break. My appointments are usually during my study hall, but had to be bumped up yesterday because one of the receptionists went into labor and they wanted to close the office early. Dreadfully boring stuff," he finished with a smirk.

"Do you have a scar?" I said, practical word vomit falling out of my mouth. He grinned and bent over to pull the leg of his jeans up. His scar was gruesome, and I was jealous. It was a secret desire of mine to have a really awesome battle wound with an exciting story behind it. "Nice," I said with a smirk, and he grinned proudly.

We fell into another easy silence, and I studied him as he downed his Wheaties gracefully - by the way, who eats gracefully? I mean, _seriously_.

"You know," I said, after a moment's hesitation, "You don't seem like the type of boy to eat breakfast at school. You seem more of an oats-and-fruit guy to me."

"Do I?" he responded, cocking one eyebrow at me as he sipped on an orange juice, "Why so?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, too embarrassed to admit my real reason for the comment - that to me, he was just too good for eating boxes of cereal in a semi-grimy cafeteria, and that it was absurd to think of him in the common role of 'student, late and hungry.' "It just seems strange for you to be in here, is all..." I trailed off, a half-truth at its best.

"What can I say?" he replied, chuckling low and sweet, "I was exhausted last night and slept in too late to eat at home. Besides, I have a weakness for grimy cafeterias and boxes of stale cereal."

I laughed out loud, the loudest laugh I owned (and which I found rather obnoxious) booming from my mouth. Sleep deprivation seemed to be another characteristic that seemed too ill-sorted to attribute to him. He seemed like he ought to be a perfect specimen, walking around perfectly all of the time, always...perfect.

When I finally calmed myself down from a hysteria that I felt silly exhibiting and I knew was brought on from the daftness that I felt hover around me when I was near him, I realized he was staring intently at me, his round, iridescent eyes glowing with something that I couldn't quite decipher - curiosity? Shock? Disgust at my idiocy?

Suddenly, I seemed to not care exactly what he thought of me. As long as he kept staring at me with such an intensity, such a beautiful intensity that it was practically obscene, I could care less if he thought I was the most trite dolt he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.

I realized for the first time that his eyes were vividly, lustrously green - for the past three days, when I'd paid less direct attention, they'd appeared to be a much more muted tone - like steel and forest mixed together. In this moment, they were vibrant, kelly green with definitive stripes of gold wound throughout the intricate, varying shades, almost catlike in their essence. They were framed by a thick, impenetrably dense set of coal black eyelashes that contrasted starkly with the auburn shade of his hair. His entrancingly strange and inappropriate looks were ones I was sure I'd never be able to fully wrap my head around, even if given the chance to (and I really, really hoped that I'd be given the chance to).

Abruptly, I was blown out of my stupor by the first bell chiming seven times over the loud speaker, apparently knocking my partner out of an intense reverie, as well. He seemed confused, restless - pained, to an extent. As briefly as his affliction had appeared, it disappeared, leaving behind the calm mask of an untroubled young boy.

He waited briefly, like a turn-of-the-century gentleman, for me to rise before he stood, surely far more elegantly than I had managed - though, in all fairness, I'd gone nearly three days without so much as tripping near him.

That being said, I shouldn't have said anything at all. As soon as the thought left my mental mouth, I immediately caught my toe on the corner of the table, flailing out in desperation, trying to grasp on to something to steady myself.

Of course - _of course_ - it just so happened that the thing closest to me was Edward. His firm grip was effortlessly strong; he needed only one arm to keep me from falling on my face, my entire body weight resting upon his solitary limb. I glanced up at him, mortified, yet still leaning heavily upon him for balance. The look in his eyes was soft, benevolent, and courteous - I blushed ferociously, straightening myself up promptly. He left his fingertips brushing against the curve of my elbow, as though a strong gust would topple me over momentarily. Every ounce of blood in my body rushed to my face.

"Alright?" he said, ducking slightly to meet my eye line, as I had riveted it in embarrassment to the floor.

"Alright," I mumbled, still refusing to directly meet his eye. He smiled sweetly, releasing me from the trappings of his touch.

"Goodbye, Bella," he said, quietly, before departing and leaving me standing alone in the cafeteria, a terrifying emotion whirling around inside me, which was far more worrisome and humiliating than any tumble I'd ever experienced.

--

I was reeling throughout English, my first period class. I didn't know what to think of that odd staring contest Edward had engaged me in; it made butterflies erupt in _my_ stomach, but it was clear he didn't think of me in that way, especially not after that little glimpse of my terminal clumsiness - and oh _God_, how mortifying. Could I possibly have worse timing? Worse aim? Not only had I shown him exactly how accident prone I was, I'd practically landed _on_ him. I could have played it off had it been two seconds later, or if I could have possibly thrown my body in a different direction, or _anything_ - how horrifying the whole situation was.

I was still embarrassed when I saw Edward in French, and it was painfully obvious. He made an effort to make me feel better, which I appreciated. He cracked dirty jokes and taught me to swear in Portuguese while Madame ranted about how immoral most Americans were, completely off topic from the original lecture about how highways worked in Paris - I didn't know if she was blind, deaf, dumb, or all of the above, because she never seemed to notice much of what we were doing.

I nearly embarrassed myself yet again, when I began laughing too hard at one particular joke involving a nun and a Twinkie and almost fell off my chair. I caught myself on the edge of my desk, but Edward made enough noise laughing at me to call the attention of the whole class towards us. We were in stitches for ten minutes afterwards.

I was a little disappointed as I watched him pack his things up to go to physical therapy. Study hall was the period immediately following French, and I'd never noticed that he always turned left, towards the student parking lot, instead of going right, towards the class were study hall was held.

I felt odd as I waved him an awkward goodbye and walked the opposite direction; it was something akin to the feeling when you've been on a bike for a very long time and when you stop, it feels stranger to stand still than it does to be pedaling. I felt thrown off balance, though that term really isn't exactly something new to my vocabulary.

I saw Edward again in biology, which was pleasant, since both of our lab partners were absent and we got to pair together to do our homework at the end of the class. I gave him the last in my stockpile of dirty jokes, and he did the last few problems on our worksheets that involved chemistry for me, only after he'd wrangled a confession out of me that I was horrid at the subject. I'd slept through the class most of the time in Phoenix.

Breakfast incident forgotten, my good day was topped off by a burst of wonderful sunshine as Edward walked me out towards my car. He laughed at me as I stopped as soon as we exited the doors and tilted my face towards the sky, basking in the warmth it bestowed upon my skin.

"It's nice to see the sun," I said, my voice sounding strained since my head was still tilted backwards.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he commented with a smirk, "There's a huge blizzard coming our way. Weatherman says it's going to be the storm of the decade." My head snapped up to meet his amused eyes. I nearly squealed in delight - but stopped myself, thank God.

"Are you kidding me right now!?" I practically yelled. I got a few odd glares as people passed us. We were still standing directly outside of the doors, and other students were struggling to walk around us in a mad dash to get off campus. Edward and I both noticed this, and we started moving again.

"I thought you liked the sun?" he said curiously. He just _didn't understand_.

"Oh, I do," I conceded, "It's such a relief after the constant rain around here. And I love rain, too, just not the horrid, ubiquitous drizzle that Forks has. A good downpour or thunderstorm is just about my favorite thing. I'm really excited to see the frozen form for the first time." We'd just reached my poor, rusty truck. Edward stopped cold on my last words.

"You've never seen snow?" he said, his eyebrows raised and crooked, as if he didn't believe me, "How is that possible?"

"Edward, I grew up in the valley of the sun. Be real." It was the truth. I had never seen real, honest to God snow in my entire life. It had flurried for all of ten minutes the winter I was eleven, but didn't even pretend to stick to the ground, and the only time I'd ever spent in Forks was during the summer. The closet thing I'd gotten was the icy condensation on the walls of my freezer. I explained this to him.

"So you've never made a snow man? No snow angels or snow ball fights?" His eyes were the size of saucers, and something like pity dripped from his voice. I shook my head, and he chuckled at my snow-related ignorance.

"Promise me you'll find someone to have a snowball fight with tomorrow," he said, beginning to back away and retreat to his own vehicle, "It's a right of passage that every self-respecting kid has to take."

"Somehow I don't think that Charlie will want to participate," I nearly had to shout, as he was already three cars away.

I momentarily frowned at how pathetic that made me sound - that the only person I could ask to have a snowball fight with me was my own father - but was startled when I saw Edward freeze his backwards walk and stare at me with a peculiar look on his face. He seemed as though he wanted to say something; his lips were slightly parted and his head was tilted ever so slightly to the side. He seemed torn, or confused perhaps. I was too poor at reading his expressions to decipher which emotion was which; he was always so peculiar, such a strange mix of such intense things.

And just as though someone had flipped a switch, his eyes brightened, and a lazy smirk found it's place on his countenance. He turned to walk away.

"Bribe him!" he called over his shoulder, as he disappeared between a big, blue van and a red convertible.

I stood still, not sure and not wanting to move from my spot. If I didn't move at all, I could still peer at the exact space he had just been standing and still picture the exact expression that had just crossed his features. So bizarre. So saturated and acute.

I wondered what he'd wanted to say to me. I thought that it was probably some rib to the exact patheticness I'd been pondering over not moments before.

I hoped that he'd wanted to offer to come over and fight with me himself.

--

Just as Edward predicted, a wild snow storm hit the town of Forks hard that night. It was so completely gorgeous - I stood out on our porch as the front came in, sheltered from the wind but able to hold my hand out and let snowflakes fall into my palm, melting as soon as they hit my heated flesh.

The snow stuck to the ground like sugar on carpet. It glittered as the street lights flickered behind undulating curtains of wind-blown snowfall. Everything looked uncontaminated and untouched; even the air smelled crisper and cleaner. I never knew snow had a scent, but it was as though it had infused everything surrounding it and beneath it with the coolest, cleanest aroma known to mankind.

It was so incredibly beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. Pretty. White. Cold. Wonderful.

I stayed out on the porch until the grass of our front lawn was completely covered and snow drifts started to wind their way up the stairs and tickle my feet. Even when I went inside, I sat backwards on the couch in the living room and watched out the window, entranced, as the snowflakes fell, one on top of the other onto a pure blanket of white.

A few hours later, Charlie came home with an armful of groceries - staples. Milk, bread, butter, eggs, cold cuts, cans of ravioli and soup in case the power went out, some fresh batteries for the flashlights.

I apologized for not thinking of stopping; the only power outage I'd ever experienced in Phoenix was when a transformer blew in our neighborhood. I didn't realize that snow could actually knock out your power.

"Nonsense," he replied, "If what you're making for dinner tastes as good as it smells, I think I'll manage to forgive you." I laughed - chicken enchiladas were baking in the oven, and I'd made a small chocolate cake earlier in the afternoon.

"Mexican," I answered with a chuckle, "I figured we could have something spicy to warm us up tonight."

He leered jovially towards the stove as he tossed all of our non-perishables into the cupboard, and I couldn't help but laugh. It was good to see Charlie in such a good mood. I wondered to myself how long his post-Bella-moves-in high would last.

I fell asleep that night watching the snow fall outside of my window.

--

_Thank you so much for reading!_

_Also - almost all of my chapters are named for songs, save the first one. I'll post the songs on my profile soon. Thanks again._


	6. Prelude

_Enormous adoration to all of my reviewers, especially to _jerseyhalliwell_, to whose review I could not reply but actually made me want to cry a little bit (thank you so much!). And of course to _memoriesunderthefloorboards_, who is just golden, period._

_And lastly but not leastly to __**chedea**__, by dear, dear friend, who is very ill tonight, and without whose guidance I would be lost in the world and a very, very lonely ficster. Read her shit, she's a better writer than me. I love you, darling! _=]

_In regards to the story, the dates in this are just arbitrary, to identify the fact that we start out on Monday, then I Tarantino it a little and go back to the beginning of the story. Enjoy!_

--

**Chapter Five.  
****Prelude.**

--

_**Monday, January 14.**_

It was cold.

It was _really_ fucking cold.

I knew the snow had melted mostly, but only by the chance that the temperature was dancing on freezing, and rain at thirty-six degrees had swiped a majority of it way.

The cold was still permeating the thin aluminum walls near my head. The floor of this place wasn't heated, and the linoleum beneath me felt like thin sheets of ice.

It was cold and I was terrified. The nightfall, the dusk of several lives could be hanging around me, including my own, shimmering as they began to fade away, and I could do nothing but sit still and freeze as they slipped from our grasps.

As I listened to a cacophony of petrified screams and shouting and attempted to obey my orders by being as quiet as I could and keeping my body flush against the wall beneath the table, I tried my damnedest to figure out how Edward Masen had possibly gotten me into this situation.

--

_**Friday, January 11.**_

The storm Thursday night knocked out a lot of power lines in the neighborhood of the high school, so Charlie woke me up Friday morning with an expectant smile and an announcement that classes had been cancelled.

I answered with a pleased grunt, and Charlie, seeming satiated, shut my door quietly and departed. I waited for the sound of his car on the gravel of the driveway, knowing I wouldn't be able to fall asleep until he was gone and the house was silent.

And, as my luck would have it, even an hour after Charlie had tried to shut the door quietly and failed on his way out to work, I couldn't get back to sleep. My mind was too busy, thinking over the most random things, like how bad I felt that I seemed to be dealing fine without my mother, college worries and stresses over the SAT scores I'd yet to receive, what I would make for dinner that evening, how grateful I was that I couldn't remember my dreams from the night before, and how odd it was that, for some reason, I was a little disappointed about not going to school today.

Finally, the restless energy swimming around in my bones could take no more, and I had to get up. Though I was still tired, I couldn't sit still any longer.

I spent most of Friday cleaning, organizing anything I could get my hands on, cleaning some more, cooking, and reading a random romance novel of my mother's that had accidentally been tossed in one of my boxes between cycles of laundry. It was difficult for me to not be moving; this strange, tumultuous mood I was in was wreaking havoc on me.

I wasn't exactly anxious so much as I had a lot of sudden, pent up energy inside of me. What I really wanted was to get up and run somewhere. Unfortunately, there was four feet of snow on the ground and I couldn't walk across a dry surface as it was, let alone a slushy, icy one.

I spent much of the weekend in the same pattern, trying to busy myself constantly and attempting to keep my speeding thoughts from doing too much damage. It made it difficult for me to go to sleep at night, and I found myself staying up until two or three in the morning, reading or writing down random ideas on the new computer Renee had shipped to Charlie's just a few days before I got there.

When he was home, Charlie worried and dropped hints that maybe I should get some rest or relax for a little while, but I told him that I was just in a funky mood. He shrugged and chatted on about some epic poker game he'd had at work that morning.

I liked talking to Charlie more than I expected; he wasn't a chatty person, and it was extremely out of character for him to talk about anything at all, really, that wasn't important. I think that he'd been alone in the house for so long that he had a lot of pent-up conversation to expel on me. Sixteen years worth, actually.

When Sunday evening came, I was finally exhausted. I was gladdened at the prospect of going to school tomorrow; even though I'd gone grocery shopping twice that weekend (once as a regular round, the second time to stockpile on staples that I didn't realize we'd been running low on), I was developing cabin fever. I needed some human contact outside of Charlie and the grumpy cashier at the Thriftway.

When I woke up Monday morning, I actually felt awake, aware, and even a little chipper, possibly for the first time in my entire life. I took advantage of it and was careful and attentive as I showered and got ready for school. I put on some nice dark colored jeans, a flannel shirt that was old, but a very pretty turquoise color, and a black v-neck t-shirt underneath, along with my gray low tops instead of my ratty, warmer Birkenstocks. I let my hair go on its own, springing up in its natural curly waves as it air dried, but I added a little of some clear liquid that my mother had told me would keep it from getting frizzy. I even put on a little tinted moisturizer and a darker shade of lip balm than usual, both of which were other items bestowed upon me by my aforementioned parental unit.

Looking in my mirror in satisfaction and, making a mental note to tell Renee that I'd actually taken care of my appearance today, just to brighten her evening, I completed my morning routine of a hot mug of tea and Clif Bars and Arizona into my backpack before departing. I made another mental note to make something nice for dinner, since Charlie had been sweet enough to heat my water up for my tea before he left this morning.

I was disappointed to see when I walked outside that it was drizzling; the ancient radio in my truck that would only ever tune to the news told me that it was thirty-six degrees. I was sad to see the snow go, melting even as cold water splashed down upon it and created strange patterns across the tops of snow banks.

My morning went as I expected it to (boringly), and as I was sitting in lunch, I felt myself becoming a little giddy, anticipating seeing Edward again after three days of not talking to him.

I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't thought about him that much over the weekend. While my mind had been racing, the topic of my new friend had been a frequent occurrence on the circuit as I spent countless hours buried in my own thoughts. I was intrigued by him, of course. The mystery he presented to me with his strange, mood-swing like facial expressions that often seemed bizarre, inappropriate, heartbreaking and fascinating all at the same time was undeniably thrilling. But beyond that, I genuinely _liked_ him. I'd already made the mental list of his attributes and character traits that I enjoyed. I was hoping he would turn out to be a good friend to have.

I was picking at the wrapper of the Clif bar I'd been unable to scarf down during history second period and absentmindedly taking periodic swigs from my can of tea. I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation going on at the table, because, as usual, it was just a load of gossip. The girls seemed to be okay with the fact that I didn't know what they were talking about and thus couldn't steal their spotlight. I almost smirked when Mike Newton, the boys gathered together in their own sports-related talks, started talking about hockey, and said something about left wings that I literally had to bite my lip to stop myself from correcting.

To say I was shocked when Edward came and threw himself down casually into the empty chair next to me would be an understatement. My eyes were wide as I leaned away instinctively, too startled to think if he would be offended.

Apparently, the feeling amongst the group at my table was mutual. All of their eyes were the size of dinner plates, some of them slack-jaw and all of them silent. I was sure that Ben, Austin, Angela, and probably Tyler were just too stunned to think rationally, though I wondered if the other people at the table were offended that he'd sat down without asking.

I got my wits about me and finally noticed Edward's appearance. His hair was windswept and damp, the light jacket over his shoulder showing a decent smattering of raindrops as dark spots against the army green fabric. His cheeks were reddened, and I could feel a cold air round him, as if he'd _literally_ just come in inside. His eyes were amazingly bright, and excited for some reason that I didn't know.

"Hey, Bella," he said breathlessly, either ignoring or not noticing everyone else at the table.

"Hey," I responded, dragging the word out slightly in confusion, "What have _you_ been up to?" I questioned, raising my eyebrow. He just smiled and shook his head, muttering a small, 'nothing.' At last he turned and offered a cursory, yet genuine grin to everyone else at the table, but still didn't turn in his chair to face them. I realized his knees were touching the side of my thigh, and I blushed slightly.

"How was your weekend?" he asked, his eyes interested and a small smirk playing on his peculiarly beautiful face. I'd forgotten in the three days that I'd been away from him the exact composition of his perfect bone structure, and I suddenly felt the desire to simply stare at him for several quiet hours. "Any good snowball fights?"

"No," I said bitterly, shaking myself out of my thoughts, "Charlie was a no-go," I joked, even though I hadn't even broached the subject with my father. Edward gave me a pitying pout and I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure there will be other opportunities, though. Canada's just a few hours away after all."

In another one of his astounding mood swings, Edwards face suddenly became profoundly intense - god, I hated using that word so much, but that was the only way to describe it - and an array of troubles and things that I assumed he wanted to say ran like a scroll through his eyes. He leaned towards me for the smallest moment, nowhere near long enough for me to react, his eyes darting all over my face and his lips parted in the slightest as if to speak.

And just like that, he was jovial again, though without the natural, effortless earnestness that had colored him when he had first sat down.

"What are you doing after school?" he suddenly said, tilting his chin towards me, as if I was confused as to who he was speaking to. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mike scowl and everyone lean in a little closer to hear better. Instead of following my instinct to scoot nearer to Edward and lower my voice so our conversation wouldn't be heard, I simply laughed and offered a joke, because I didn't know what he would think of that obvious showing of intimacy on my part, even though he seemed to be perfectly okay with frequently stupefying me with his vivid, emotional glares and stares.

"Oh, you know, maybe wrestling some bears," I said with an easy smile, and Edward laughed lightly, "I heard there's been a cougar problem out near that Native American reservation."

"Well, excellent," he claimed, as if it were a decree, "Because you and I are going to my favorite diner after school, which just so happens to be on the way to the reservation, so you can finally experience the joy of Amy's beef on weck. I'll drive and then drop you off at your hunting ground of choice," he finished with a smirk. If I hadn't been so startled at the way he had phrased his proposition, I think I probably would have been vacillating between falling out of my chair in excitement and calling him out for being an insufferable nerd.

"Oh, that's nice," I replied, narrowing my eyes, "No, 'Hey Bella, you want to go out after school?' or, 'Hey Bella, have you ever been to this place Amy's?' For all you know, I could be an Amy's veteran." He laughed heartily, his head tilting back a little.

God, I had never seen him so rapturous in the whole week since I'd met him. For some reason, his laugh was completely infectious, and though I stuck my tongue out at him, I couldn't help but laugh, too.

"Amy's changes you, Bella. There'd be no mistaking it if you'd ever had the pleasure to wrap your lips around one of her sandwiches." His tone was very serious, as if he were lecturing me, and I had to remind myself to laugh. Because in that moment, I was _not_ thinking about wrapping my lips around _sandwiches_.

At that, Edward stood and left, walking away with only a grazed hand across my shoulder, a flare of warmth, and a chortled, "See you next period, Bella." I struggled to stay upright in my chair as the warmth momentarily consumed me, and was able to see everything around me only when it had dulled and passed.

I commended myself immediately, for playing along so well when all I'd really wanted to do was sigh and stare at him for awhile. He had the most curious affect on me. Between the foreign expressions, the fluttering of my heart, and his strange habits of appearing and disappearing on his mysterious whim, it was as though he was just this big, enigmatic present waiting for me to unwrap. The thought thrilled me.

I'd been staring at the seat Edward had just vacated, and when I finally looked up, I was met by several pairs of ragingly inquisitive eyes. I shrank back a little at the obvious questions floating in the air.

"What?" I said, just a little nastily. The boys, perhaps startled by my attitude, immediately returned to their conversation about sports (and thank God they'd left the subject of hockey), Jessica and Lauren bent their heads together to gossip, and only Angela had the grace to simply smile and ask me how my long weekend had been.

--

Nothing of our afternoon plans was mentioned during French, though Edward had a mysterious smile that kept turning his lips up in the slightest, at the oddest moments. I would have never noticed had I not been staring at him the entire period. It was the first class outside of that one unbearably awkward day that we weren't chatting or passing notes and ticking off Madame. I wondered curiously what the hell had gotten into him.

The same thing went for biology, when I shot him frequent, questioning glances over my shoulder. He only saw me a handful of times, but when he did he simply smirked and looked back down at his paper. Both of our biology partners were back from their random absences, so there would be none of the switching up we'd done previously.

I noticed about halfway through the period that both my lab partner and Edwards were giving me peculiar looks. The pretty girl that sat next to me had never so much as spoken two words to me, and Edward had mentioned in passing how the tall, cool blonde kid that sat next to him was a little anti-social, but polite and calm nonetheless. I wondered how many times they'd caught me staring at Edward, and felt embarrassed that they had noticed my blatant infatuation with him.

I spent an anxious last period tapping my pencil and trying to balance the urge to cast my gaze at Edward and avoiding the strange glares of our lab partners.

Finally, the period ended, and I bent down to gather my things together as quickly as I could. Edward still beat me and was waiting at my desk when I stood up.

"Hey," I said, a little breathless from standing on my head, "What's gotten into you today?" I asked, not beating around the bush. He shrugged as we started walking towards the student parking lot.

"I'm just in a good mood for some reason," he said lightly, and the subject was closed. Who was I to argue? Despite the obvious simplicity of the situation, he just continued to fascinate me even more. I was getting in way over my head.

I stopped when we reached my truck, though Edward kept walking; he seemed to be lost in his thoughts, his face troubled once more. I briefly thought to myself if I would ever be able to get to the bottom of him. His façades seemed to be ever-revolving, and he never kept one up long enough for me to get to know that aspect of him before the next one was in its place. The Edward I knew in general terms was an average kid - albeit an enormously interesting, intelligent, kind, funny, kid with excellent taste in pretty much everything - but just an average kid, nonetheless.

Maybe that was one of the reasons I was so hypnotized by him - besides the infuriating cycles of expressions and moods that had me just wanting to dig inside of him and pull up every secret he's ever had and everything he's ever wanted to tell me – he seemed to be the _best_ kid I'd met yet in Forks. Despite the odd looks he got from most other students and the strange comment Mike had made on my first day - which I'd discarded but not forgotten - he was truly just...great, for lack of a better word.

I cleared my throat to get Edward's attention, and he stopped walking, turning to peer at me with a patronizing expression and roll his eyes.

"I wasn't kidding about driving," he said very seriously, "Amy's is hard to find and I like to drive too fast for you to follow in _that_." He gestured with a condescending eyebrow to my rusty old truck. I glared at him. "Come on, we'll come back and pick the thing up afterwards," he laughed, and I begrudgingly followed him to a shiny navy blue car and climbed in.

"Buckle your seatbelt," he chastised playfully as he fiddled with his keys, and I stuck my tongue out at him for the second time that day.

"Stop being such an asshole," I snapped. _Oh dear._ My eyes widened, floored at my own language, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. I was surprised at myself; sure I dropped the occasional F-bomb in my internal monologue, and I was pretty sure that I cussed a little too much when I was thirteen and accidentally got drunk at a family friend's communion reception, but other than that, I rarely swore out loud. It wasn't so much the fact that I was an ignorant goody-two shoes as I simply wasn't in the habit of doing it.

Edward had halted in his ministrations to get the key in the ignition, his eyes as wide as mine, staring at me in shock. I immediately felt bad, thinking he was offended for me calling him such a name. I opened my mouth to apologize, but was interrupted by him throwing his head back and the car being filled with loud, booming and practically musical laughter.

Oh, God, Edward. You're so pretty.

"Well, well, well," he said, still chuckling as he stuck the key in and revved his engine up, which I'll admit made a very mighty noise for such a small vehicle, "Who knew you had a little potty mouth on you." I flushed at the thought of Edward talking about my mouth.

I shivered a little when he wrapped his arm around the back of my seat so he could turn and see where he was going while he backed out of the parking lot. His face was _so _close to mine, I could practically feel his breath fanning out across my face. It was incredibly pleasant, and undoubtedly the warmest thing I'd felt since I'd moved to this dreary town.

I couldn't help but be embarrassed when he turned and met my eyes, catching me conspicuously ogling him, still trying to see and memorize every gentle curve and sharp arch of his face. He simply smirked and turned forwards, his eyes now glued to the road.

Edward was right. He did drive too fast. We were easily doing 90 down the highway before we were even forty-five seconds away from the school, and I had to lean over and fiddle with the iPod attached to his dashboard before I would look out the window and have a heart attack.

The ride was spent in relative silence, Edward commenting every so often on my music choices and smiling when I put on Vampire Weekend or Trembling Blue Stars. I verbally noted that his iPod was all but identical to mine, and he laughed softly before comfortable silence enveloped us again.

I briefly thought to myself how good it was that I wasn't being ditzy or shaking with nerves. I felt relaxed, even in the little speeding death trap cocoon of steel. I was, however, excited to spend more time with Edward, getting to know him, and hopefully delving into some of his more mysterious bits.

We arrived in about eight minutes, though it felt longer and I suspected that it would have taken a normal driver at least twenty to get there. It was a cute, shiny, silver and stereotypical diner trailer, complete with neon sign in one of the windows that proudly announced it to be Amy's Diner.

We walked in the door and Edward greeted an aging waitress behind the counter by name - Donna, maybe? Deana? - and told her he was taking his regular booth in the corner. She sighed and told him it'd be a few minutes before batting her eyelashes at him heavily, though he'd already turned to lead me to his usual table.

_You and me both, sister._

We sat down across from each other at the booth, the leather of the seats surprisingly comfortable, and I sizzled a little when I felt the tips of his boots touch the tips of mine beneath the table.

I looked tentatively up at him and was legitimately startled to realize he was giving me another one of his Looks. The ones that were a heartbreaking combination between agony and troubles that no boy his age should know and an unbending urge to tell me _something_. I wasn't prepared for it, and it knocked the wind out of me in the slightest. I managed to remain stoic and waited for it to disappear.

Though I didn't ever know if he would be able to look at me openly, without his obvious internal disturbances shining through his eyes and actually be able to tell me whatever the hell it was he wanted to say without pain or hesitation - the reality of him having something to say so undeniably obvious to me now that that certain part of his gaze could not be mistaken for _anything_ else - I accepted both the fact that I deeply wanted that moment to occur, and that I would wait for him to come to me and initiate it.

I waited patiently for another breathless moment, my thoughts and air stolen from me by the strengthening grip of his piercing and discomforting eyes, and it passed just as quickly as it had appeared, just as I'd expected it to. In a blink of the eye, he was back to the joking, lighthearted Edward I'd seen in lunch and observed all day.

"I hope you like red meat," he said with a smirk, and I struggled to change my frame of mind as quickly as he was, and eventually resolved to simply not overthink things and try to react to what was going on in the here and now.

I wasn't sure whether or not I should tell him that I did not, in fact eat red meat. I'd gotten off of it when Renee went through a brief Hinduism obsession. I hesitated, and then smiled sheepishly.

"I like it, but I don't really...eat it..." I trailed off, looking away. I didn't know if I felt guilty or not for disappointing him, or if he'd had plans to make a grand gesture of a beef on weck (which, I _admittedly_ had a serious weakness for, and it tore my heart out a little that I couldn't eat them anymore without getting ill), but he paused for only a beat before chuckling. I looked back at him, and he seemed as easy and carefree as a breeze.

"That's alright," he said genuinely, and my anxiety was fully eased. He apparently decided that he'd been waiting for Debbie long enough, because he shouted out an order for an extra large plate of french fries and two chocolate milkshakes. I heard a muffled shout in a language I wasn't sure was English come from the kitchen, and Edward just smirked for the hundredth time that day. Apparently he really was a regular.

"Play a game with me?" he said eagerly. My heart skipped a beat and I mentally rolled my eyes at myself.

"I'm not really into Pokemon," I quipped, hoping he hadn't caught my brief falter. He gave me a pointed glare and ignored my comment otherwise.

"I'll give you the name of a song, and then you have to take the last letter of that name and give me a song beginning with that letter in return. Jive?"

"Did you grow up in the fifties, Edward?" He paused a moment to _really_ glare at me before his easy smile took its place once more.

"Oxford Comma," he said, noting the Vampire Weekend song we'd listened to in the car.

"A-Punk," I replied quickly. He nodded his head in appreciation.

"Killer Bees."

"Wu-Tang, Edward? Really?" He sighed heavily.

"And you called _me _an asshole."

"Hey, now..."

"Keep Me Warm," he said, cutting me off and replacing his previous answer. Hmm.

"Ida Maria or Ron Pope?" I asked tentatively, referring to two songs that I had on my iPod by two different artists.

"Neither," he said, "Matthew Hope." I'd never heard of him, but nodded nonetheless.

"M..." I said, trying to mentally scroll down my Songs list, "M, m, m, m...mmmmm..." I was mumbling to myself, and Edward laughed at me. "Many Funerals," I finally spit out.

"She Paints Me Blue."

"Emotional Rescue."

"Emergency Seventy-Two."

It went on like this for several minutes, each person revealing a little more of their taste in music with each passing turn. Edward made fun of me for blurting out SexyBack in response to Old Letters, but I brushed him off and reminded him of his rap group error. Eventually, a huge mountain of steaming, salty french fries and two massive glasses filled with chocolate slush were set down in front of us.

We dug in, continuing our game while we ate until I decided it was time to up the ante.

"Okay," I said with a conspiratorial grin on my face, which Edward obviously noticed, since he grinned excitedly in return, "Let's institute a time limit. You have three seconds to give an answer or you get a point for a demerit. Person with least points at the end wins?"

His face lit up, eager to begin our little round of gambling. However, his expression immediately broke, his features becoming cracked and terrified faster than I'd ever seen them shift before.

"Edward?" I said tentatively, too shocked by this egregiously abrupt swing to remember to keep my mouth shut. His eyes flitted towards me, and for the first time I realized he'd been looking at something out of the window, just over my shoulder. I turned to see what had shaken him so badly, but he hissed.

"_No, Bella_," he said, his voice low. Dangerous. I looked back at him, slightly scared by his tone, which held so many things that I couldn't even begin to wrap my horribly stupefied brain around. I realized his hand was grasping mine, _hard_. "Don't turn around. Listen to me very carefully." He paused, and I could do nothing but nod in agreement. He glanced over my shoulder again to confirm something, and his features set, hardened, when he laid eyes on whatever it was that he was so suddenly panicking over.

"There's a man in the parking lot. He has a gun." My breath caught in sheer terror and horror. A gun? A freaking _gun_!? "Don't panic, please. I need you to stay calm, do you hear me?" He didn't wait for me to answer. He was moving all of our dishes over to his side of the table, though I couldn't imagine why. Shouldn't he be calling the police? Alerting everyone else in the restaurant? What the _fuck_ was going on?

"He's going to come in here and he's going to hold the diner up," his voice was deathly low, and I was struggling against the warring urges to scream and cry and tell him he was an asshole again for trying to joke about something like this, "You're going to get under the table. You're going to press your back against the wall and stay out of sight and be _as quiet as you can possibly be_. Do you understand?"

Was he kidding me? Was he seriously kidding me in this moment? Was this some sick joke? If there really _was_ somebody with a gun, about to '_hold up_' the place we were eating in, did he honestly think I was going to hide under the table like a coward and let him be taken hostage by some criminal? How did Edward even know the guy had a gun, anyways? How did he know he was going to rob the diner?

"Edward, _no_," I hissed back, my voice as low as his, "What the hell is going on? What about you? You're – "

"Bella, _I_ am going to be fine," he stressed, and I could tell he was trying to make his voice calming. It didn't work well with the wildness in the eyes that kept darting between my face and the window behind me. He was starting to shake in anxiety, and he gave me one final, pleading look.

After that, I couldn't deny him. Because his eyes, practically igniting my skin every time he glanced at me, were completely open and untamed. Besides absolute fear and terror, in them was some sort of raw, animalistic desperation. Some sort of unnameable and instinctual impulse to get me under the table was practically consuming him, and it was obvious. I couldn't deny him.

"Bella, _now_."

Numbly, I slid as best as I could between the edges of the table and the booth seat, pressing my body against the floor as I was told, scooting back until I was touching the wall, which really wasn't that far. I tucked my legs as best as I could underneath me and made sure I was completely shrouded in shadows, no strip of light touching any part of me.

The cold that was seeping through the walls and the floor began to soak into my skin, and I shuddered violently. It was adding to and compounding the blunt revulsion that I could feel blossoming in every cubic inch of my musculature.

Edward's knee was bouncing up and down as we sat and waited for an endless minute for the man to come inside. I think in a normal state of mind, I would have wondered why he wasn't standing up and telling everyone what was going on, but I was too overcome to think of anything outside of the emotions, reflexes, and anxieties pumping through my veins.

I reached my hand out, making sure I was still out of sight, and gently laid my palm against Edward's leg, letting him know I was here. I knew, and it was glaringly obvious, that he was horribly frightened for and protective of me, though his reasoning for that was something I couldn't reckon. Even so, he was undoubtedly petrified for his own life. He was the boy still sitting, essentially, in the line of fire. I was dying wishing he had crawled down here with me.

He jerked at the touch, startled, but his leg stopped moving nonetheless. In the midst of this silent, horrifying chaos, the true, unwavering and vile calm before the storm barreling towards us, the contact calmed both of us infinitesimally.

I heard the bell ring over the door and felt Edward tense under my hand, his thigh tightening up and his toes curling in his boot. It was about to begin.

I heard screaming. Shouting, both frightened and violent.

I heard the ominous, disgusting sound of a shotgun being pumped and armed.

--

_Hum. I'm feeling rather insecure about this. I've had it planned for a very long time, but now it seems melodramatic to me. Epic sigh. Before you ask, Edward is **not** a clairvoyant. All will be explained, I promise, and if something you are curious about doesn't get explained, remind me and I will of course either write it in or let you know. Pretty please with sugar on top drop me a line. _


	7. Safe in the Distance

_**WOW. **__The response that I've been getting for this fic, both here and on Twilighted (btw, readers! I've started posting on Twilighted under the moniker_ **rachelosaurus**_), is really astounding. Thank you SO much, ALL of you._

_I love reading everyone's theories on this! My story is much more tame and not quite as dramatic as people seem to be expecting it to be, though I hope that ends up being for the better. Don't get me wrong, it's pretty dramatic, but I do focus a bit more on relationships throughout than heavy plot. I hope I'm not digging myself into an early writer's grave with that. =P Anyways, the much-awaited follow up!_

_--_

**Chapter Six, Part One.  
****Unsafe Safe.**

The things happening around me, surely, could not be happening. Any moment, I would wake up, I would break the deluge of unconsciousness, and proceed to scold myself for having such silly, horrible dreams.

A deeply cynical voice in my mind, always present but not always vocal, said that this was not the case.

I was aware only of my heart pounding, stuttering within my chest under the weight of heavy floods of adrenaline, of the smooth denim beneath my palm and the warm skin underneath it, of the vibration of the ice-cold linoleum beneath me as heavy feet fell on the floor of the diner.

I was shuddering against the cold and the horrid illness creeping up within me. My body, my mind didn't know how to react in the situation. I was furiously angry at whoever would have the gall and the lack of humanity to do this. My fight-or-flight instinct was thrashing, and I was vacillating too quickly between the two inherent options for it to be safe for my reeling psyche. I was sick for myself, sick for Edward, sick for the little old ladies and the mother and her son sitting at the counter, sick for the chef and the waitress.

There was a dense roaring filling my head, veiling all other noise in an unpleasant echo, and I realized it was the blood rushing at break-neck speed through my body. I heard only one voice yelling now, though I couldn't decipher the words being said. It was a voice that would haunt my nightmares for many, many nights to come, its malicious tenor something to inspire fright even in the hardiest of men.

I heard what I thought may have been a cash register being smashed open, and the high-pitched tinkling of quarters and pennies cascading to the floor. I heard muted slamming and baritone yells, but still couldn't differentiate the syllables and intricacies of individual words.

I was struggling against the low, thundering din present only in my head, to hear the unmistakable and tell-tale sign of a gun shot. I was trying to focus on the leg muscles still straining beneath my palm to see if they went limp, a signal that the life in them had ended.

I felt like I was floating, or maybe completely immobile, suspended somewhere between two realities, one where life was as it was normally and one where we were all mere feet and seconds away from our deaths.

Despite this, everything truly stopped, everything froze and seemed to move in slow motion, when I saw a pair of dirty brown boots appear in front of me. The legs attached to them were bent slightly at the knee. He was in position, with his gun.

I didn't move. I resisted the coexisting urges to shrink away from the light and to get closer to what I could see of Edward. I remained ultimately still, my breath not stirring the air in front of me nor my heart presuming to take a beat. Even my mind remained utterly motionless, not even trusting itself to keep from being noticed. I saw everything laid out before me, moving so slowly, clear as day, but that was as far as it went; simple recognition and nothing else.

I didn't _dare_ move, breathe, think or even react until I saw Edward's wallet fall to the floor, empty. The soft brown leather tilted on its side, wavering, before laying flat across the linoleum. The boots departed what seemed like hours later, though I knew, in actuality, it was only seconds.

I expelled the breath I'd been holding lowly, slowly, and silently. I hadn't noticed how dizzy I was from lack of air until I accepted it again into my lungs.

The deafening roar slowed and faded slightly, my famished and confused heart trying to preserve oxygen and still keep the cells in my body from dying.

I heard a final, loud slam, a bell chime cheerfully, and the strike of an ancient screen door against its frame.

Just like that, it was over.

I felt Edward's muscles beneath my hand unclench and the loud noise of a woman sobbing pierced the air. A man cursing violently and the squealing of tires made it all seem like some horrible, morbid symphony to my raw ears.

I felt rather than saw Edward shift. My hand fell from his leg and his face appeared above me, peering into the darkness from the light above, like some warped angel descending from the heavens.

His eyes, so wild and fearful before, were relieved, and so many other things. This look wasn't one of the Looks that I was gradually becoming accustomed to. It was...everything and nothing at all. He felt everything in that moment - relieved, shocked, ill at ease, turbulent, lucky and cursed, safe and assailable - and his eyes were black with it. Like having every color in one place at one time, his eyes were blanketed with all emotions.

And I let it permeate me, because I was completely blank, and vacant.

"Bella," he said softly, his eyes still shadowed, and offered me his hand. He helped me unroot myself from the floor, his grasp as placid on my head as it was strong on my body. I slid out from beneath the table and was sat next to him, on his side of the booth now.

I felt cold; not only from the icy floor and walls I'd buried myself next to for the past several minutes, but simply because I didn't know what to feel at all, or how to feel anything else. What would be the appropriate emotion to experience in this situation? Fear? Shock? Horror? Relief? Anger? Disgust? I felt none of these, not even numb. I was just existing.

I wanted to look towards the window, but knew I would see nothing there. I kept my eyes trained on the table, not knowing what to do with myself. I heard frightened, weeping shrieks of, '_Oh my God, how could this have happened!?_' and murmured consolations accompanying them. I couldn't define who was saying what or where the voices were coming from.

I did, however, hear a distinctly male voice very clearly, his words standing out from the rest of them because of their battling profundity and simplicity, like when you hear something that could be your name in a crowd of thousands.

"I was standin' right over there by the kitchen door," he said. I glanced up to see the door he was speaking of, directly behind where I had been sitting not four minutes ago. It was closer to the window than we were, closer to the parking lot. "I didn't see a damn thing. Looked like a completely normal guy, comin' in for a bite to eat. Didn't see the gun 'till it was pointin' in my face."

The words washed over me, though I'm not sure what effect they really had on me. I felt that something had changed within me, but I wasn't aware of the change and I simultaneously felt exactly the same as I had fifteen seconds ago; lost. Unsure. A simple understanding had occurred, and my emotions made no reaction to it.

I turned my head to regard Edward, my neck moving slowly because my body was still re-learning how to process and perform actions. He was staring back at me. His eyes were clear now, nothing strange or muddled or black about them. They were flatly terrorized. I knew that it was not a side-effect of what had just happened; no, this was an internal crime committed against him. It was one of the Looks, and it was as undiluted and stunning and just mind-blowing as it had ever been.

"Edward..." I breathed, my eyebrows pulling together in the slightest, but I didn't know what to say. I was still trying to reconcile the things I knew I should feel or was feeling with the fact that I wasn't actually aware of any of them. Edward's eyes shifted infinitesimally away from me, and when his gaze returned, it was empty.

He laid a hand on my knee, though I felt none of the pleasant warmth that usually accompanied even the gentlest of his touches.

"Your father will be here soon," he said simply, his voice as hollow as his eyes.

--

_So, this was short, but there was literally maybe four lines of dialogue, so it was dense. Please let me know what you think. Thank you!_


	8. These Walls Are Built to Fall

A/N: _Alright, my loverly little muffin cups, here's the next chapter (finally! - I've had copious amounts of papers and labs and financial aid applications the past few weeks). You may or may not have noticed a slight makeover: new summary and chapter titles in the drop-down menu. I'm not sure if I like them - they go against all of my OCD impulses, so they might be changed back in the future. ****__This chapter is dedicated to my dear, genius friend JT._

_I do have something quick to say: most of you think this is going to be the second coming of The Sopranos, or that I'm resurrecting Tony Montana in the form of Edward Masen. As interesting as that might be, I promise you Edward will not be wielding a gun or watching out for that new shipment at the docks anytime soon. There won't be any Italian accents anywhere, either. I'm super sorry if that's what you expected, I really didn't mean for it to be that misleading._

_Anyways, please read, enjoy, and review!_

_--_

**Chapter Six, Part Two.  
****Momentum.**

They probably thought I had gone crazy. I was staring at the tile floors, studying patterns and aligning my shoes in the curvatures of the fake marble. I was digging my nail into the pebbled surface of my plastic chair and humming a little Eisley tune, not paying anyone any mind anymore. Because I just didn't care.

It'd gotten to the point where the endless questions were getting completely ridiculous. I understood that it was in all likelihood the worst crime committed in Forks in the history of the whole logging town's history, but how many times did I have to tell the deputy that I was in the restroom the whole time and hadn't seen or heard anything of importance?

I _had_ been in the bathroom. I'd just walked in to the restaurant, wanting to try one of their mocha milkshakes. A friend had recommended the place, and since I had nothing to do after school, I'd decided to check it out. I'd been alone.

I remembered the look on Charlie's face when he came clambering through the door; obviously, word had gotten through _fairly_ easily that his daughter was in the diner that had just been robbed. I was blissfully unaware of my surroundings - every scrubbed counter top, every inch of cold pleather against my back, every frazzled middle aged woman and child was blank to me - and Charlie bursting through the door was like the sharp pin that burst the balloon. I was suddenly more alert to Edward being so close to me that his jeans were brushing against mine and my father's eyes swivelling immediately to our hunched, tense forms and flashing with something akin to irritation.

Edward was completely silent as he stood and let me slip out of the booth and walk over to Charlie. He embraced me and I didn't like it. My skin was raw, and the affection with which he hugged me didn't mesh well with my exhaustively barren emotions, even if I felt faint embarrassment pressing in on the edges of my barely awakening consciousness. I remained very still for a moment and was grateful when he released me.

He rested his hands on my shoulders and his eyes seemed to sweep my body for any injuries, though I knew none had been reported.

"Hey, you okay?" he said, his tone obviously worried, and it didn't so much warm my heart as stir bated annoyance, "How are you feeling? Cold? Clammy? Sick?"

"Fine." I didn't have any other explanation to offer him, because I wasn't feeling anything else at the moment. The faint chagrin I'd been experiencing was still only that - very faint and very precise. I felt that and nothing else, in a very small dosage.

"Fine? Really?" He was disbelieving.

"Yes, fine." His eyes fluttered over my shoulder and I could feel his fingertips clench my bones unconsciously. The direction his gaze traveled was eerily and recently familiar to me. He was looking at Edward, since he was the only other person on this side of the diner, with a peculiar expression, like protectiveness and illness and resignation all mixed into one. It was unpleasant.

"You here with Masen?" he said, and he was struggling to keep his voice even.

I turned my head just enough to see Edward standing five feet behind me, leaning against the side of the booth I'd just been beneath, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He could hear every word we were saying, every small inflection in Charlie's voice and lack thereof in mine.

I was suddenly, brutally, enormously disappointed. It hit me with the weight of a thousand bricks, acute and deeply sickening in the fallow quiet that my emotions had been seconds prior. I don't know what I'd been expecting; maybe for him to seem worried that he'd been caught with the police chief's daughter or that I would probably be subjected to an interrogation that would rival that of John Dillinger. Maybe I'd anticipated the flat blackness in emotional manifestation or obvious trepidation that I'd been witness to only moments ago.

He looked indifferent.

I turned back to Charlie, not bothering to set my features. The vexation would not be questioned.

"No."

After that, I was completely unconscious to the things around me, too distracted by the flood hitting me internally: shock, disbelief, terror, relief, a cacophony of senses that a normal person would have expected to experience while the trauma had actually been occurring. The perceived walls that were protecting me before had been knocked down by an enormous amount of dissatisfaction and frustration. It was all in retrospect, all more vivid than it should have ever been.

Worst of all, and by far the most clamorous, anger was crashing through me in waves stronger than tidals and more violent than hurricanes.

How dare he? How dare he be so apathetic? How dare he do something so insane and completely ridiculous, acknowledge the fact that I was aware of his questionable means, and then offer me nothing but a blasé glance and an ingenuine comment about my father?

I was too distracted by my riotous, colorful emotions, flashes of red anger and brown, muddy boots and off white linoleum taking over the whole of my vision for split seconds, punctuating the front seat of the police car and lobby of the police department with disquieting images.

I somehow managed to formulate a lie to tell the police officers, though I was only aware of doing it after the fact - it didn't matter, it wouldn't change their investigation in any way, and nobody in the restaurant would remember who I'd been sitting with when I came in. I wanted more to avoid unnecessary confrontation between my father, Edward, and I, or any discussion involving Edward at all, than I desired to tell the truth.

I sat in one of the three tiny interrogation rooms in Forks Police Department for hours on end, first being briefly inquired after by my father, then a Sheriff, then a state trooper and an SBI agent.

My patience was minuscule the entire time. I had bigger fish to fry than a bunch of crocks flexing their underused law enforcement muscles in my face (and on top of it all, my usually dormant cynicism and petulance was ravaging me in full force, initiated and amplified by my turmoil within). What I was actually running through my mind was shortening my attention span to the point where I would forget questions the moment they were asked of me and tell Charlie and the other officers things I'd already told them three times previously.

Beyond the colossal aggravation I felt at Edward's total lack of affect, what I was thinking was that, if the man standing behind us at the kitchen door had not seen, heard, or sensed anything suspicious, especially from his superior vantage point, then Edward would not have been able to either. Edward should not have been able to, with more than enough time to spare, warn me of the coming events and insist that I clamor and hide beneath the table.

I only vaguely registered the brief monologue performed by the SBI agent on the whole affair having possibly been connected to a string of crimes in small towns up and down the Western seaboard, and that my help would be greatly appreciated. By that time, my thoughts had become solid and settled within my chest - resolute anger and irritation utterly eclipsing any residual trauma - and my story was just as sturdy in their ears.

After regurgitating my lie one last time, I was finally released to go wait in the lobby while Charlie finished up with the last of the witnesses. I was secretly pleased that I wasn't, for some strange reason, the only one who'd been forced to endure three hours of this ridiculous run in circles.

Unfortunately, I was met with a hot wall of curious stares, all five secretaries and twenty police officers of course staying late to see the results of the Great Holdup play out.

I tensed up, my eyes widening, enormously uncomfortable with all of the unwanted attention. If I hadn't subconsciously reminded myself that Charlie had to come here in the morning and every morning afterwards to face these people as he worked, I would have sneered at them and told them to mind their own business.

Instead, as tactfully as I could manage, I half-nodded, appearing meek instead of as nettled as I actually felt, and sidled around the corner into a dark, empty hallway. I flung myself against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut, breathing in deeply and strangling the urge to hit someone or something.

The hush was odd, peculiar in that the long, lightless hallway made all outside noises seem faraway, my surroundings more cavernous than they really were. The strangeness of it was comforting, enveloping me like a soft blanket and just barely extracting me from my own self. In its own way, it was grounding as I struggled to reconcile the two paths ahead of me: a deep desire to confront Edward and a simultaneous one to run away.

Of course, my invaluable silence did not last as long as I would have liked it to and I was faced with the decision before I had really thought it through.

"Bella."

I didn't bother to open my eyes to know who it was. His voice was inherently ordinary to me now, regardless of how much that simple fact troubled me. It had been something of him that I'd studied in our extremely limited interactions, analyzed every cadence and enjoyed every change in tone. I'd probably never forget it now, no matter how much I may end up wishing I could.

I did eventually open my eyes, and he was standing at the entrance of the hallway, the light from the open office hitting him from behind and shrouding him in an ethereal fashion, much like it had when he'd appeared in the shadows of my under-table haven. His eyes, skin, and hair all seemed darker against the backdrop of the fluorescent white light. It was disturbing.

I didn't respond to him. My perturbed glare gave him acknowledgment enough. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. All of him was slightly less defined and remotely blurred by the darkness of the hallway coating him in front and illumination in back, and I couldn't exactly decipher the look carved into his face.

"Uhm, I was thinking..." he sounded genuinely unsure of himself, and the unsteadiness in his voice was abnormal. I felt a small pang of guilt for radiating such adamant irritation towards him. "I can pick you up for school tomorrow, since you uhm...don't have your car."

Yet another flash of temper hit me as he reminded me of this fact, a brief thought of blaming him for my predicament - an unfair choice between Edward, who I wasn't sure of my opinion on, and getting carried to school in the cruiser. I forcefully crushed it, keeping in mind the thoughtfulness and sincerity that was indelibly apparent despite the lack of my ability to decipher him aesthetically. It was a monumental departure from his cool indifference and just the shock of it took the edge off of my acerbity and possible antagonism. It wasn't an excuse or a fix, but it kept me from glaring at him as I nodded my consent.

I think he smiled briefly, though I rightly couldn't tell, before turning to walk away.

"Edward," I called to him, and he stopped immediately, reversing back to face me. As the light hit his eyes in odd angles, they cast nearly microscopic steel green reflections across the curves of his lower eyelid, and I could see that they were ineffably curious. Realizing how rude I may have appeared to him, my tone was even more mild than I had planned when I spoke again.

"I _do_ want some answers." He frowned, and his brow wrinkled.

He studied me for an endless moment, and I couldn't quiet the unsettling feeling that I was being judged. I struggled to hold onto to my composure and keep from biting my lip in sharp consternation.

He nodded solemnly and left without another word.

_--_

_Quick note to LM Wilson: thank you so much for your reviews! I love them even if you're not logged in! Your theory...is completely not right. Haha, you've sort of got the right elements, but you're not putting them together the right way. You're sort of warm, though! Also, to __**K**__, thanks for your sweet review!_


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